It's gone.
Slowly, I turn around and walk over to the window as if in a trance. I look out, searching the road for a car, for the men who pursue me.
It’s empty.
Below there is nothing to be seen except a lonely street light which illuminates the darkness.
I turn back around with a relieved sigh. I have some more time. I can disappear before they come again.
Hastily I stuff everything within easy reach into a suitcase. Then I stumble into the bathroom. With trembling hands I throw my shampoo into the bag. A tumbler falls, but it doesn’t matter. They should see that it was a hasty departure. That makes the whole thing more believable.
The locks on the case snap shut. Quick now. It may not be long until they come. The storeroom already has one of my cases inside, now I add the second.
Then back to the room. I let my gaze drift across the room, hopefully I've not forgotten anything... The gun! Where's the gun? My desperate search is interrupted by steps on the stairs.
My heart stands still.
Thinking quickly I climb up the shelves in the closet. I throw my hand bag into the narrow compartment above me and pray that I can squeeze myself inside, because it is damn small. I stuff two cushions in front of me as protection from prying eyes and slide all the way back, then quietly close the cabinet doors. The shelf is deeper than I thought. Good. Maybe I have a chance. Maybe God will be gracious once again.
There is hardly a sound as the door to my room quietly opens. I break out in a sweat. My breath comes in choppy bursts. I painstakingly try to calm myself down. If I panic now, I'm as good as dead.
If I could, I would think of something beautiful, but my imagination has gone on strike. All of my senses are focused on the sounds coming from my room. The fact that I can see nothing, do nothing, almost drives me crazy.
Then I hear it, a phone ringing.
"She must have checked out. Her luggage is gone," murmurs the intruder. I can hear him, as if he were standing next to me.
His footfalls sound further off. Then he opens the doors of the bathroom cabinet. "She's gone. Fucking hell," he growls.
"Ask the porter when she left." Then there is a moment of silence. "So what if it’s paid a week in advance, doesn't he know anything else? What do you mean, she could have left at any time? Damn it!"
A loud crash breaks the silence, so loud that I bump my head in fright.
Another noise, this time it’s the cupboard doors. Light floods in. I’m going to be sick. It's over. It’s just a few seconds until he’ll see me. I stop breathing. I hold my breath until I can feel it in my ears.
He rummages around in the closet below me. He pushes the hangers along the rail, even though there are no garments hanging on them. Some of the hangers fall on the floor, but he just kicks them away. Then he pulls out the pillow that I stuffed in front of me to hide myself. Any second he’ll see me.
"He’s what? The idiot let himself be taken to the hospital. How did that happen?" The cupboard door is slammed shut. "What an idiot, he let her drive into a traffic light? This cannot be happening!"
His footfalls get fainter again. The door to the room slams. Exhausted, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, filling my lungs with oxygen.
33
Several hours pass before I dare to crawl out of my hiding place. Only when I get cramps in my back, and I can stand it no longer do I climb out, tired and battered.
Carefully, I sneak over to the window. Peering through the crack in the curtain, I can see the empty street. Maybe I got lucky. Maybe they're actually gone.
I leave the suitcases in the store room, take only my purse, and then I run down the stairs, out the back door and sprint to the nearest taxi rank.
I'm just sitting safely in the taxi when I realize that I have no idea where I want to go. I could go to another hotel, but Ron's ability to track me down is slowly starting to scare me. I need a place where I feel safe, a place no one would suspect, a place where Ron cannot find me.
I need to think, alone, but the driver keeps staring annoyed in the rearview mirror, waiting to know where I'm going.
I tell him to drive in the direction of the trade fair. That's far enough to give me time to think. At this time of day, there’s very little traffic, everywhere is couched in a deep stillness, waiting for the commuter traffic which will rush through the streets Monday morning. Exhausted I lean back in my seat. The question of where I can find shelter runs round and round my head, and then I have an idea.
A sleepy Christian opens the front door, after I have repeatedly rung the doorbell. You can see by looking at him that I got him out of bed, his eyes are tired, and he is wearing only a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.
"Can I come in?" I ask.
"Do you always visit people this late?" he mumbles as he steps aside to let me in.
"You said I could call you any time. Day and night,” I remind him.
"Yes, but I was thinking about more normal times of the day, not three o'clock in the morning."
Without answering I follow him through the brightly lit hallway. I'm glad to be here, now I can only hope that he doesn’t throw me out when he finds out what I want.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he interrupts my thoughts.
"A coffee would be heaven." With a deep sigh I sit down at the small bistro table in his kitchen. It’s a designer kitchen, cozy despite the shining worktops and bright cupboard doors. It looks as if someone actually cooks here. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes. God, I'm tired. It seems to me that years have passed since I was in Ibiza.
A faint gurgling reveals that the coffee machine is working. I open my eyes again. The coffee machine looks like it could also iron and act as an interpreter.
A hot, comforting cup of coffee soon sits before me. Christian sits down, looking at me expectantly. I act as though I haven’t noticed and instead watch fascinated as the coffee vapor rises, then take a sip of the boiling hot drink.
"Why do you need help?" he asks the question that I have been waiting for. Luckily I prepared a response while in the taxi, one which I hope will secure his help.
Instead of a reply, I put a thousand euros on the table. Without stirring, he looks at the money. You'd think he’d never seen two five hundred euro notes.
"I need shelter for a few days. Not for long, just a couple of nights. That's all. You don’t have to do anything else. No other services."
Christian is eying me penetratingly. I shuffle uneasily in my chair, I feel as if he can see right through me. As if he could see all of my many secrets. I hope he doesn’t notice that nothing in my life is as it should be. I try a smile, but quickly give up, because my hands start to tremble, and my smile is threatening to turn into a sob. Quickly, I look away. I look around the kitchen, and examine the fridge intently.
"Why don't you go to a hotel? There are hundreds of them in Frankfurt."
"I already tried that. It didn't work out."
"How about if you explain to me what’s going on?"
I had a feeling he’d want to know more, it would all have been too easy if he had taken my money without asking questions. So do I give him the truth, or the abridged version?
I tell him how Ron is having me followed, and how he keeps finding me no matter where I go, and that I have no idea how he does it.
Christian interrupts me. "Do I understand you correctly? Your husband tracks you everywhere, and you're here? With me?"
Before I can reply, he grabs my arm and pulls me up from the chair. He almost drags me along the corridor behind him as he walks down the hall to the front door.
"Wait a minute, how could they find me here? No one knows that I know you."
"And how did they find you in a hotel in Frankfurt?" Christian opens the front door, he pushes me outside, but then something happens that I had not expected. Instead of slamming the door in my face, he joins me outside. He walks around to his car, my handbag dangling in his hand.
"
Come on, get in."
Christian throws the bag on my lap and slams the door shut. It’s a new, red Ferrari. How can he afford such a vehicle?
"Where are you taking me?"
Christian buckles up and turns to me. I'm getting cold. If looks could kill, I would breathe my last breath.
"Where no one can find you, not even Ron," he replies.
And then he takes off with squealing tires. The car lurches forward as he pushes on the gas racing to reach the next set of traffic lights. A red traffic light. He accelerates and I dig my fingers into my seat.
Ten meters.
Five.
Please turn green, I pray while simultaneously yelling at him: "It’s red, damn it!"
The tires screech as he comes to a halt. The car swerves, and turns. Christian turns the car to the left, slams on the gas again and shoots into a small side street.
My heart is racing, and I notice how bile is rising in my throat yet again. But something else rises up in me as well. Anger.
"What is this? You stupid fucking idiot. You want to kill me?" Angrily I punch him in the side.
"Stop that. You're insane!" He tries with one hand to ward off my shots, but I'm out of control.
"My life is a fucking nightmare! Since I found this stupid body, I haven’t had a quiet minute. And now this!" With a sharp jerk, I fly forward. The seat belt forces the air out of my lungs. Christian has finally done what I wanted him to. The car has stopped.
You can almost see smoke clouds rising from the asphalt. He turns to me and I could swear that he is at least as angry as I am. Then it occurs to me. I had forgotten that he didn't know about the small detail of the dead body.
"You... Are... Going... To... Be... The... Death... Of... Me," he growls out between clenched teeth, and then he starts the car again.
34
"What's that?" Worried, I stare into the black water. The dim lights of the waterfront paint dark circles on the gentle waves.
"You ask too many questions and answer too few." Christian makes a hand movement clearly intended to indicate I should get out of the car. "Get out! And bring your purse."
"First tell me what we're doing."
Without answering my questions Christian opens the driver's door, and shortly after my door. "Now get out before I get really angry."
"No."
"Okay, then don't." Christian takes my bag and goes down to the waterfront. Reluctantly, I get out too. Apparently he does not intend to kill me, even if I was not so sure about that a few minutes ago. Curious, I follow him. I stop at one of the picnic tables and watch as he empties out the contents of my handbag.
"What are you doing?"
With a sigh, he looks up at me. "Is Ron psychic?"
"No."
"You see, I thought so." Christian rummages around in my stuff, which lies before him on the table. "Why do women need all this stuff?"
My knees are still trembling from the ride, and so I sit down before he notices. "Can you please tell me what we’re doing here?"
"How about if you use your brain for a few seconds?"
"I lost my last gray cells in the ride over here."
"How do you think Ron manages to find you every time?"
I’m itching to go over there and tidy everything up as I watch him push my expensive Platinum make-up collection carelessly to the side. The man has no idea what it all cost.
"I don't know. I thought at the beginning it was my credit cards, but I’ve thrown them all away after the incident at the Mainhatten. A friend said they may have tracked me through my phone, but I've changed it now. Maybe he's just lucky."
"Maybe, but there are also other methods," Christian mutters without looking up. Then he holds up a coin. Has he completely lost his mind?
"You know, what this is?" Christian puts something on the table that looks like a 1 euro coin, and pushes the rest of my stuff back in the bag.
“A euro?”
“No. This isn’t money, but rather the reason why we now have to get out of here, and quickly."
Before I can respond, he gets up and goes to the car. He’s driving me crazy, nevertheless, I follow him. I'd rather die in a Ferrari than wait to be pushed into the river by a dark figure.
"Ron planted a GPS transmitter on you. So he can track over the Internet exactly where you are right now, down to the house number," explains Christian while we rush through Frankfurt.
"Son of a bitch." A GPS transmitter. How did Ron get that in my purse? An image rises in my mind's eye. The day I was in his office. The day when Ron was surprisingly friendly, hugged me, and kissed me goodbye.
"But that was after the Mainhatten."
Christian looks at me. I'd rather he would pay attention to the road, because he is racing through the city at almost 180 kilometers per hour. "They traced me to the Mainhatten before he had the opportunity to plant it," I add as explanation.
"You just said that you paid with credit card at the hotel, or have I misunderstood? That’s why you destroyed them, no?"
"Yes." I blush when I think of it. Every child knows you should never pay by credit card when you're on the run. But at the time I didn’t know that I was being chased.
Christian stops in front of the main train station with a screech. He turns to me and smiles. This time it's a real smile, one that makes my heart skip a little. I’m suddenly hot and cold.
"Now we will let dear Ron follow you throughout Germany," he says with a grin.
Shortly thereafter we walk together through the abandoned station building with loud echoing steps. Some weary travelers and two police officers are the only people we encounter. Christian stops to look at the departure board. "Hamburg sounds good, doesn’t it?"
"Very good," I agree. A little later, we are waiting on track 3. The train going north is already waiting to depart.
"Stay here!" Christian takes the small GPS transmitter and boards the train. He really thinks I'm going to stand around alone out here, after all that’s happened? I follow him and watch as he checks each compartment, until he finds an empty one. Before I reach it, he’s standing in front of me again.
"Woman!" Christian shakes his head and pushes me in front of him. "Can you never do what I tell you?"
"I'm sorry," I say later, as we’re once again driving through nocturnal Frankfurt.
"What are you talking about?"
"About coming to you. Now Ron has your address. They’ll visit you as well. You’re no longer safe at home."
"I don’t think they could locate you there. Haven’t you noticed that they can’t always track you down? They should have found you in Frankfurt, before you had your appointment with Ron, or even earlier, when you were driving to Barcelona."
"That’s true. I didn't think of that. Why didn’t the transmitter work?"
Christian grins. "Because your dear Ron didn’t reckon with all your accessories. The poor transmitter was surrounded by all these metal tins in your bag. The signal couldn’t get through as long as you were carrying all that stuff around."
Metal tins? That’s what Christian calls the Platinum make-up collection by Shiseido, which cost me a small fortune? I have to laugh when I imagine Ron's face. How angry he almost certainly was when the signal disappeared, only to turn up again for a short time days later, and then disappear again. Now it's on the way to Hamburg. I lean back satisfied, I can now finally enjoy the ride.
My satisfaction comes to an abrupt end. I should have guessed.
"Why didn't you call the police? That is what people normally do, if they find a corpse," asks Christian.
Crap!
"Well. It's complicated. The body disappeared suddenly."
"The body was gone? How stupid do you think I am?" With a jerk, the car comes to a stop. Christian leans over me and opens my door. "Get out of here, I want nothing to do with you and your tall tales."
"Wait! I know it sounds strange, but let me explain."
"I'm looking forward to it." Christian folds his ar
ms across his chest, looks at me and waits. I begin to sweat again. Only the damsel in distress approach can save me now.
"I don't know what happened. I...I was afraid." That's not even a lie. "All I knew was that there was a dead body in my house, and I panicked. After I discovered the body, I searched the whole house. I looked everywhere, I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anybody in the house besides me. When I came back, he was gone. The dead man, I mean."
"Gone? Just like that?"
“Yes. I don't know, maybe I imagined the whole thing. I took strong sleeping pills the night before, maybe it was just a bad dream or hallucination." I think I’m being pretty convincing. If I hadn’t buried the body myself, I wouldn’t believe me capable of it.
"And I should take you at your word?"
"Yes." I look at him with what I hope is an honest expression. "That’s exactly what happened." Christian shakes his head.
"Close the door," he says, and starts the car again. I lean back with a satisfied smile. There now. That wasn’t so hard.
35
"I should get the thousand euros just for the fact you got me out of bed at three in the morning," murmurs Christian and takes a sip of coffee. After our adventure at the station he let me sleep in his guest room, allegedly because it was too late to find a hotel. Relieved, I agreed to his proposal. I would love to stay here forever, I feel safe in his presence.
Now it’s ten o'clock in the morning and he looks at least as sleepy as last night when I got him out of the bed. That does not detract from his good looks, I on the other hand need almost half an hour to prepare myself to face the world. I inspect him a little anxiously. I hope he takes the money and helps me.
"What?" Christian interrupts my thoughts.
"Nothing."
"You’ve been staring at me the whole time and yet you haven’t said a word."
"I’m waiting for your answer."
Christian shrugs his shoulders. "I told you I would help you. Any time. Remember? Day and night." With a grin he pockets the money. "And how exactly do you need my support?"
Never Trust a Callboy Page 13