by Dora Heldt
Renate shook her head disapprovingly and grasped Walter’s arm more firmly. “It’s unbelievable how much people change, don’t you think?” She let her shoulders droop in mock despair. The dragons sank their heads too. “You can’t put up with it, Walter.”
Walter clearly didn’t quite understand what Renate was trying to tell him, and he looked over to Heinz. “The fried fish must be getting cold—and it’s not good cold—or did you not bring any?”
“Yes, yes, just a minute.” While Walter opened the bag and laid the boxes and napkins on the table, Renate kept gazing at him. Was it his imagination, or was she being flirtatious? He waited as Kalli unwrapped the fried fish and shellfish from the greasy paper and put it on a plate for him.
“Thank you, Kalli,” he said, reaching for the cutlery. “What’s wrong, Renate? Do you want to try some?” He started to eat without even returning her gaze. At least she had taken her hand off his arm now.
Kalli had unwrapped all their dinners and arranged them neatly on the smoothed-out bag.
“This will do, right?” he asked, before turning to Renate and beseeching her, “May we offer you something?”
“No, thank you. I’ve already had a few oysters and a glass of champagne. I don’t need much.”
“Hmm…” Heinz gave her a quick glance, then bit into a piece of fried shrimp. “Well, if you say that’s enough for you.”
The men sat there chewing in silence, giving Renate time to look around the room.
“Well,” she said after a short while. “Now all three of you are sitting here, abandoned by your wives, nourishing yourselves on cheap fried fish from the docks. It’s an outrage, especially for fine men like yourselves.” She sighed sympathetically.
Walter looked up and fished the receipt out of the bag. “Cheap fried fish! That’s what you think. The cheapest fried fish roll cost three euros and fifty cents, and they used to be half that. Just for a roll and a little bit of fish. It’s scandalous.”
“But they are fresh.” Heinz tried to defend the pricing of the local docks. “You can’t get this kind of thing in Dortmund.”
“Speaking of Dortmund…” Renate piped up again. “When are you leaving, Walter? I mean, it’s not like you can do much here with the way your wife’s behaving.”
“Why? How is she behaving?” Heinz asked in a guarded tone. After all, Inge was his sister, and he didn’t like other people criticizing her. Not even Renate.
Her mouth twitched scornfully. “Well, she’s playing games with all of us, isn’t she? All these secrets. She never has time to spare, not even for me, and I came here especially to stand by her. And what happens? I have to go and eat dinner by myself every night. And that’s something I simply abhor doing!”
Heinz and Walter carried on chewing in silence. Only Kalli spoke up. “Why did you want to stand by her? Through what?”
Renate positioned her hands on the table, making her flashy jewelry sparkle in the light, and said, as though it were perfectly obvious, “Through her divorce. Inge met another man and wants to separate from Walter. I thought that was clear.”
“Did she say that?” Walter stared fixedly at Renate’s hands.
“Not in so many words, but there were enough hints. Listen, Walter, you don’t deserve to be treated like this. I have a proposition for you. I’m leaving tomorrow, and you’re very welcome to come with me. I’m driving to Cologne.”
“In the Porsche?” Kalli leaned forward with interest. “I’ve never been in a Porsche.”
“No, thank you.” Walter scrunched up the greasy napkin and helped himself to more fish. “I already have a return ticket. Saver’s price. And besides, we have some things to deal with here first.”
But Renate didn’t give up. “And how long do you need for that?”
“Why?”
She gestured vaguely at the chaos in the kitchen. “Well, I could wait for you and tidy up here a little in the meantime. It’s not right. Three men alone, fending for themselves. I’m an excellent cook, you know. You’d be amazed.”
Kalli and Walter looked at each other skeptically. But a mischievous look appeared on Heinz’s face. “Can you make potato salad?”
“Of course. And endive, rocket, and Caesar salad too.”
“And pasta salad? With pesto?”
Renate’s expression was a little uncertain now. “Yes, of course, but…”
“Wonderful.” Heinz clapped his hands. “Then you’ll come here tomorrow. We were planning to have a barbecue in the evening, but we don’t have enough time to prepare everything.”
She melted at his almost childlike enthusiasm for her culinary abilities. “With pleasure. Of course I’ll come. Is there anything else you need me to get?”
“Yes,” Kalli answered immediately. “Everything except the meat and drinks. We’ll take care of those.”
Renate nodded silently and looked at Walter. He managed to return her gaze this time, saying, “And remember to bring the receipt with you.”
Half an hour later, the three men stood next to one another on the front lawn and watched the Porsche disappear off into the distance. Kalli clapped Walter on the back.
“She has a soft spot for you, old boy.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. Heinz? Don’t you think so too?”
Heinz shrugged. “No idea. She gives me those strange looks, too, you know.”
Walter turned around and walked slowly back into the house. “I wouldn’t have invited her here tomorrow. She seems a little wacko to me. But you know best, Heinz.”
“Walter!” His brother-in-law hurried to catch up with him and blocked his path. “I have a plan, and Renate is part of it.”
Heinz waited until Kalli had caught up with them, then he started to explain his plan. “Tomorrow morning we’ll go to see Björne Larson—he’s an old friend of mine. He knows everyone on Sylt, knows everything, hears everything, and sees everything. If anyone knows where Mark Kampmann is, then it’ll be him. As soon as we find Kampmann, we—or rather you, Walter—can give him a piece of our mind. Anything you can think of, it doesn’t matter what you say. The important thing is that he finds it in his best interest to drop Inge like a hot potato. Then it’s time for phase two of the plan. Tomorrow we’re having a barbecue, and Inge’s coming too. Now listen to this. Renate will be there. She will have helped prepare everything and will keep looking at Walter in that way of hers. All Kalli and I will need to do is make a few comments, then Inge will be jealous before you know it. Everything will be fine and dandy again.” Obviously quite pleased with his scheme, Heinz turned to Walter with a proud smile. “So, what do you think?”
“I think I’m going to bed. Good night.”
Kalli looked up at the sky and then at Heinz. “It’s a very good plan. Excellent, in fact.”
The car bumped along the run-down old road toward Ellensburg. Every bump made the car shudder, and Walter groaned every time.
“My behind will be completely broken if the road carries on like this,” he grumbled. “Can’t you drive a little more carefully? You have no idea how much this hurts.”
Heinz took his foot off the gas for a moment, slowing down to navigate his way around a pothole.
“There’s nothing I can do about it. This is a private street. We’re not on a main road. And besides, we’re almost there. Do you see that lighthouse? Björne lives right next to it.”
A few minutes later, Heinz stopped the car in front of a small thatched house.
“We’re here. Walter, you can open your eyes again now, you made it. Kalli, bring the bottle.”
The front door was flung open before they even had a chance to ring the bell. Björne Larsen was wearing blue overalls, a checked work shirt underneath, and a watch cap on his head. He gave them a brief nod and stroked his thick gray beard.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Björne.” Heinz shook his hand and pointed toward his companions. “This is my brother-in-law, Walter,
and Kalli, an old friend of mine. He’s from Norderney.”
“Oh, well, never mind, I won’t hold it against him.” Björne looked at the two of them. “Did your brother-in-law fall off a horse or something?”
“Worse than that.” Heinz grinned. “Through a hedge. But the doctor says his tailbone will heal after a few days.”
“Come on in then.”
Björne led them into the kitchen, where they sat down around a big table already laid out with a pot of coffee and cups. But with a glance at the bottle in Kalli’s hand, Björne opened the cupboard door and took down four shot glasses.
“I guess we should start with some Bullenschluck then, right?”
Kalli looked at the clock. “It isn’t even ten thirty yet. I don’t think…”
“It’s medicinal.” Björne poured the glasses up to the brim and handed them around. “I thought you said you were an islander.”
“Yes, I am, but…” Kalli sniffed at his glass, horrified.
Heinz clinked his glass against Kalli’s impatiently. “Cheers, Kalli! Björne, Walter…” He knocked back the liquor in one go, shuddered briefly, then nodded to Björne. He filled the glasses up again.
“A bird never flew on one wing,” he said, waiting until Kalli drank his down and held out his glass hesitantly. Visibly struggling, Kalli knocked back the second shot, then wiped pearls of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.
“It’s not that bad, I guess. Well, the second wasn’t as bad as the first. So you’re an islander through and through? Or did you move here?”
“I was born here.”
Heinz reached for the coffeepot. “Björne is a dyed-in-the-wool Sylt man. He’s worked as a carpenter, on the shrimp boats, in a pub, at the marine school, for the local authorities, and down at the docks—everywhere really. Have you ever been anywhere else, Björne?”
“Yes, I was away for two years in the marines. But I didn’t enjoy it. And that was a long time ago.” He held a coffee cup out toward Heinz. “So what can I help you boys with?”
Walter pushed his empty glass away. “You know, that really did help. My behind is feeling a lot better.” He waited until Björne had unscrewed the cap again, then asked, “Do you know a guy called Kampmann?”
Björne filled Walter’s glass and nodded. “There’s only one Kampmann. Mark, the son of Karsten Kampmann. The old man died four years ago, such a shame. He fell overboard while out sailing. He was a great guy, a lawyer in Westerland.”
“And the son?” Walter picked up his glass. “How old is he?”
“Mark?” Björne thought for a moment. “He must be the same age as my daughter…And Maike is…God, how old is she?…Wait, she’s going to be forty-eight in August, and she and Mark were in the same class.”
“He’s that young?” Walter went pale and knocked back his third shot in one go. “Good God.”
“Well, forty-eight isn’t that young.” Björne stared at Walter in confusion.
“It is when his girlfriend is sixty-four,” said Heinz.
“Sixty-four?” echoed Björne in surprise. “His girlfriend is in her midthirties at the most. Marion Fischer. She works in Westerland, in the realty business.”
“Aha.” Walter still looked despairingly. “So what’s he like?” Heinz poured another shot for his brother-in-law.
“Mark…” Björne stirred his cup, deep in thought. “Karsten always had a lot of trouble with the boy. The mother ran off after snaring herself some rich tourist from the movie business, or something like that. She packed her bags and left her husband and son, just like that. I think Mark was ten at the time. Karsten brought him up by himself, with a housekeeper’s help. But the boy only ever gave him grief. He got kicked out of school and ended up going to a boarding school in Kiel. I guess things got better from then on in, because he even went to university in the end. Some years ago he went into the law—the family business, as it were—but no one understood why Karsten wanted him to. All they ever did was argue. Until the accident, and the business has belonged to Mark ever since.”
“So what’s he like now?” Walter repeated his question, still not having received an answer. Björne looked at him thoughtfully. “There’s something a bit dodgy about him, if you ask me. People tend to like him. He’s good-looking, and I guess he’s really charming too. But something’s not quite right. There are rumors that he’s caught up in some dirty business.”
Heinz swallowed. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Are you having trouble with him?”
Walter shrugged. “We’re not sure yet. But we have to talk to him. We’ve already been to his office and home, but he wasn’t there.”
Björne got up and looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. “Karsten bought a small house years ago—well, it’s more like a hut. Between Braderup and Kampen, opposite the Red Cliff Lighthouse. I used to do a few repairs there now and again, you know, check everything was okay while Karsten was still alive. Mark stays there overnight sometimes if he has problems with the girlfriend or just wants to have some peace. Apart from me, no one else even knows that it belongs to him. I’ll write down the directions for you. The lane is called Pück Deel.”
Chapter 36
* * *
“Everything will be fine,” Johann said warmly as he opened the passenger door for Inge. Christine, who had climbed into the back to make room for her aunt, gave Inge a squeeze on her shoulder. “We’re with you. Everything will be okay.”
Inge’s anxiety was somewhat eased by their attempts to comfort her. She was certainly relieved she didn’t have to go to Flensburg by herself this morning. She had made some notes yesterday evening, writing down everything that had happened in chronological order. But despite her efforts to impose some order, the whole thing still seemed like a hopeless mess.
“Do you have everything you need?” Christine leaned forward. “The letter, your ID, the copy of the document?”
“Yes.” Inge checked her handbag one more time to be sure. “I went through everything yesterday evening. Hopefully I can explain it all in such a way that this Sorensen guy doesn’t think I’m completely senile. The more I think about it, the more complicated it gets.”
Johann gave her a reassuring look. “Don’t worry about it. Perhaps he can tell us something.”
Once they reached the ferry, they drove past the barriers and were ushered into the first line. There were only four cars in front of them. Johann turned the engine off, then winked at Christine in the rearview mirror. She hesitated for a moment, then understood what he wanted.
“I could do with a coffee. Johann, what about you?”
“I’d love one. Maybe you two could go to the kiosk?”
Inge shook her head. “Not for me, I’ve only just had breakfast. But you can bring me a newspaper if it’s not too much trouble.”
Christine had already opened the door. “Come on, Aunt Inge, come with me. I can’t carry everything by myself anyway.”
With a quick glance at Johann, she got out and held the door open for her aunt. Johann waited until they had disappeared into the kiosk, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
Once they reached the embarkation point, they gazed out over the glistening water. Inge, in the seat facing them, had dozed off; she was still wearing her glasses and had the newspaper in her hand, but she was fast asleep. Christine shifted forward a little and put her hand on Johann’s shoulder. He reached out and laced his fingers through hers.
“Did you manage to get hold of him?” she whispered.
Johann nodded.
At that moment, Aunt Inge gave a start and straightened up.
“Oh.” She stretched out. “I guess I dozed off for a moment.”
She took her glasses off and put them back in their case. She leaned her head against the window and watched the landscape flying past. Something suddenly occurred to her. Addressing Johann, she said, “What are we going to do if the lawyer isn’t there? We don’t even have an ap
pointment.” Her voice had a slight panicked tone.
“Yes, we do,” said Johann. “I phoned while you two were at the kiosk.”
“And?”
“Peter Sorensen is eagerly awaiting our arrival.”
“What makes you say it like that?” Inge looked at him suspiciously. “Is there something I should know?”
Christine nudged him. “Come on, Johann, tell us.”
Johann straightened up in his seat. “Well, I didn’t want to make you nervous. We still have an hour’s journey in front of us.”
“Johann!” Inge leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. “Tell us.”
“Peter Sorensen has been trying in vain to reach you for the last two weeks now. He kept calling you in Dortmund and wrote several letters. Doesn’t Walter answer the phone when you’re not there? Or open the mail?”
“Yes, he does. But maybe he was out eating at the neighbors’ place. Or out doing someone’s taxes. And he would never open letters addressed to me. He takes confidentiality laws very seriously. He must have put them away somewhere and forgotten about them. Did Sorensen say what he wanted to talk to me about?”
“He couldn’t tell me. But he was very pleased that we’re on our way to see him.”
After the fifth round of Bullenschluck, Kalli put his arm around Walter’s shoulders and patted him on the head.
“Look…We know where he is now, so we can drive there afterward and give him what for.” He hiccupped, reached clumsily for his glass, and drank down the last few drops. “Björne, this stuff just keeps tasting better and better. Can I have another?”
Walter unraveled himself from Kalli’s tender embrace. “Kalli, you’re not having any more to drink. We have things to do, remember?” He stood up, swayed for a moment, then sat back down again. “I feel dizzy. It must be from the accident.” He giggled softly. “But on the plus side, I can hardly feel my behind anymore. Either it’s dropped off completely or it’s healed. Have a look, will you, Heinz?”