by Nele Neuhaus
“Louisa’s been whining all evening,” he said, getting up. “She didn’t want to eat, said she had a stomachache. Then I read her a couple of stories, and finally she fell asleep.”
He took Emma in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.
“How was the reunion? Did you have fun?” he asked, placing a hand on her stomach. He hadn’t done that in a long time. Just a little more than five weeks and this pregnancy, which had not had the most fortuitous start, would be over. Florian hadn’t wanted a second child—and she actually hadn’t, either, but somehow it had happened.
“Yes, it was really interesting to see everybody after such a long time. In some ways, they’ve hardly changed at all.” Emma smiled. “And I met my best friend from those days. I haven’t seen her since we graduated.”
“That sounds great.” Florian smiled, too, then cast a glance at the kitchen clock above the doorway. “Is it okay if I go over to Ralf’s for a beer?”
“Of course. You deserve it after an evening of putting up with Louisa.”
“I won’t be late.” He kissed her again on the cheek, then put on his loafers, which were standing next to the door. “See you in a while.”
“Okay, see you. Have fun.”
The door closed behind him, and the light went on in the stairwell. Emma heaved a sigh. The first few weeks after he got back from Haiti, Florian had acted strange, but now he seemed more like himself. Emma was familiar with his dark phases, when he acted cold and introverted. They usually passed after a couple of days, but this time it had taken a lot longer. Even though it was his idea to stay in Falkenstein until the baby was born, it had to feel odd for him to be suddenly back in Germany, living in his parents’ house—the house he had fled almost twenty-five years ago.
Emma opened the fridge, got out a bottle of mineral water, and poured herself a glass. Then she sat down at the kitchen table. After all the years of their gypsy lifestyle, which had taken them to the most remote places on earth, she found the idea of finally settling in and putting down roots very tempting. Next year, Louisa would be going to school, and that would be the end of living in some camp somewhere. Florian was an excellent surgeon, and any clinic in Germany should be glad to take him on. Besides, at forty-six he was no spring chicken. Most of his bosses, as he had mentioned recently in a discussion of this very topic, were younger than he was. But he couldn’t imagine having to face on a daily basis the degenerate and overfed victims of the affluent society at a hospital. He had made this statement with the same vehemence that he used to describe his own goals, and Emma understood that nothing would change his mind.
She yawned. Time for bed. Emma put her glass in the dishwasher and turned off the light. On the way to the bathroom, she looked in on Louisa, who was sleeping soundly and peacefully, surrounded by her stuffed animals. Emma’s gaze fell on the book that Florian had been reading to the little girl, and she had to smile. Who knows how long he had to read out loud, she thought. Louisa was crazy about fantasy stories and fairy tales. She knew them all by heart: Hansel and Gretel, Rapunzel, Snow White and Rose Red, and Puss in Boots. Emma gently closed the door. Florian would get used to his new life soon enough. Someday they would have their own house and be like a real family.
* * *
The soccer field was empty now, but sensation-seeking onlookers still crowded in behind the fence blocking off the sluiceway, and members of the press had arrived by now, as well. Pia tried one more time to reach her boss. No luck. His cell was turned on, but he didn’t pick up. She did get through to Detective Superintendent Kai Ostermann, who picked up at once.
“Sorry for bothering you,” Pia said. “We just retrieved a body from the river in Eddersheim, near the locks. I could use your help.”
“No problem,” Kai replied, without a word about the late hour. “What do you want me to do?”
“I need a warrant for an autopsy, tomorrow morning early. And maybe you could check the list of missing persons. A girl between fourteen and sixteen years old. Blond, very thin, dark brown eyes. Henning thinks she’s been dead for a few days.”
“Got it. I’ll drive over to the office right away.”
“Oh, and please try to reach the boss.” Pia ended the call and sent Bodenstein a text. He’d been away for four days now, but last week he’d told her that he’d be back Thursday night.
“Ms. Kirchhoff!” called a man with a camera marked Hessen TV on his shoulder. “Can we get a couple of shots?”
From force of habit, Pia wanted to say no, but after thinking a moment, she changed her mind. A spot on TV might be very helpful in clearing up the identity of the dead girl.
“Sure, go ahead,” said Pia. She asked one of the patrol officers standing at the cordon to accompany the camera people and reporters to the site where the body had been found. HR, SAT1, RTL Hessen, Antenne Pro, Rhein-Main TV. All of them would rather listen to the police channels than to music on the radio.
One of the ambulances had left with the dead-drunk kid, and a hearse had pulled up.
Pia knocked on the side door of the other ambulance, and it was opened at once.
“Could I talk to the young woman?” she asked.
The EMT nodded. “She’s still in shock, but we’ve got her stabilized.” Pia climbed into the vehicle and sat down next to the young woman on the folding seat. She had a pale but pretty childlike face with wide eyes, in which Pia saw fear and horror. What she had just experienced was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Hello,” said Pia in a friendly voice. “I’m Pia Kirchhoff from Kripo in Hofheim. Would you please tell me your name?”
“A … Alina Hindemith.”
She smelled unpleasantly of alcohol and vomit.
“She just told me her name was Sabrina,” the assistant EMT interjected. “And her ID says—”
Pia cut him off. “Would you mind leaving us alone?”
“I … I can explain everything,” whispered the young woman, staring at the ceiling of the ambulance. “It … it was stupid of me, but … but I borrowed my big sister’s ID. We … we look a lot alike.”
Pia sighed. Unfortunately, this trick worked in almost every supermarket in Germany.
“I … I used it to buy some booze. Vodka and slivovitz.” She started to cry. “My parents are going to kill me when they hear about it.”
“How old are you, Alina?”
“Fif … fifteen.”
Fifteen years old with a blood-alcohol content of .20 percent. A brilliant achievement.
“Can you remember what happened?”
“We climbed over the gate. Mart and Diego knew the place and said nobody would bother us there. And then … then we just sort of sat around and … and drank.”
“Who else was with you?”
The girl glanced at Pia and then frowned. She seemed to be having trouble remembering.
“Mart and Diego and … and me. And Katharina and Alex … and…” Alina’s voice tracked off and she looked at Pia in terror. “Mia! I … I don’t know exactly what happened. I … I blacked out. But then I saw Mia lying in the water. Oh God, oh God! And Alex was so drunk, I couldn’t wake him up!”
Her face contorted, and then the tears streamed down.
Pia let her cry for a moment. The girl from the river couldn’t be Mia, who’d been drinking with Alina and her friends. Henning was seldom mistaken, and the wounds from an outboard motor corroborated the fact that the dead girl had been in the river a long time. Pia’s cell rang; it was Kai Ostermann. Unfortunately, all he could tell her was that so far his queries had produced no results. Pia thanked him and ended the call.
She asked the girl for the last name and address of the unconscious boy, then for his parents’ phone number. After jotting them down, she climbed out of the ambulance and spoke briefly with the EMT.
“She’s stable, so we can let her go home,” he said. “Tomorrow, she’ll probably have a huge hangover, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”
&n
bsp; “What about the boy?”
“He’s already on his way to Höchst. I’m afraid he’s got more than just a pounding head in store for him.”
“Good evening, Ms. Kirchhoff,” somebody said. Pia turned around, to see a dark-haired man with a three-day stubble, who was wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt, and well-worn moccasins. He seemed vaguely familiar. It took a few seconds before she recognized Dr. Frey, the state attorney.
“Uh … hello, Dr. Frey,” she stammered in astonishment, almost blurting out “What on earth happened to you?” She’d never seen him wear anything but a three-piece suit and tie, and he was always clean-shaven, his hair slicked back with gel. He looked her over with the same mixture of curiosity and amazement.
“I was at a class reunion when Dispatch called,” she said with a hint of embarrassment.
“And I was at a backyard barbecue with friends and family.” Even the SA seemed to consider it necessary to justify his unusual attire. “They told me about the discovery of the body, and since I was in Flörsheim anyway, I volunteered to handle the case.”
“Ah, that’s … that’s good.” Pia was still a bit confused by this unexpected metamorphosis of the SA; she couldn’t have imagined that he had friends or would enjoy a relaxing evening barbecuing. He smelled slightly of alcohol with a hint of peppermint. Apparently, he wasn’t completely immune to worldly pleasures. It was a whole new side of this notorious Calvinist noted for his iron discipline and workaholic tendencies. In her eyes, he existed only in his office or a courtroom.
“Are you going to call the parents of the two drunk kids?” The EMT slammed the side door of the ambulance shut.
“Sure, I’ll take care of it,” said Pia.
“They told me you’re in charge of the investigation.” State Attorney Frey took her arm and pulled her aside so that the ambulance could move past.
“Yes, that’s right,” Pia said with a nod. “My boss is still on vacation.”
“Hmm. So what exactly happened here?”
Pia briefly explained the situation. “I considered it proper to grant the press access to the site where the body was found,” she said, concluding her account. “My colleague could find no record of any missing person’s report that might be linked to the victim. Perhaps the public can assist in identifying the dead girl.”
The SA frowned but then nodded in agreement. “Clearing up a fatality. It’s always preferable to resolve a homicide as rapidly as possible,” he replied. “I’ll take a look at the case. We’ll probably be seeing each other later.”
Pia waited until he had vanished in the darkness, then tapped in the phone number that the girl had given her. A light breeze had come up, and she shivered. The reporters returned.
“Do you think we could get another brief statement from you?”
“Just a moment.” Pia walked away a few yards toward the riverbank so she could talk in private. An extremely alert male voice answered. “Good evening, Mr. Hindemith. My name is Pia Kirchhoff, from Kripo Hofheim. It’s about your daughter Alina. Don’t worry, she’s fine, but I’d like to ask you to come to Eddersheim. To the locks. You can’t miss it.”
The men from the undertakers came down the footpath carrying a body bag on a stretcher. The cameras started flashing at once. Pia went over to Kröger’s vehicle, which, as usual, was unlocked, grabbed the fleece jacket from the backseat, and slipped it on. Then she gathered her hair into a ponytail, using an elastic to hold it in place. Now she felt more like herself and ready to face the TV cameras.
* * *
Since early in the evening, people had been grilling and drinking all over the trailer park. During the summer months, the social life of the residents took place mostly outdoors, and the later it got, the more the noise and alcohol levels rose. Laughter, yelling, music—nobody took anyone else into consideration, and occasionally trivial incidents would escalate to loud and even physical arguments between neighbors who even when sober couldn’t stand one another. Usually, the trailer park operator managed to mediate the squabbles, but the hot weather had stirred up animosities to such a degree that the police had been called in several times over the past week to prevent anyone from being injured or killed.
It had been years now since he had been invited by anyone, because he had consistently refused every invitation. The last thing he needed was some sort of camaraderie with the other residents of the trailer park. Given his history, it was clearly better if no one knew who he really was or why he was living here. The leaseholder was the only person he had ever told his real name, and he doubted that the man would remember him. There was no official lease agreement for the trailer. Not wanting to draw attention, he always paid the rent on time and in cash. His official address was a box at the Schwanheim post office. Here, at the trailer park, he didn’t exist. And that’s the way he liked it.
Years ago, he had made it a habit to go for a walk while people were partying and getting drunk. The noise didn’t bother him, but ever since he’d started working at the lunch stand, he could hardly tolerate the smell of grilled meat and sausages that wafted over to him. So he’d walked a ways along the bank of the Main River, and he’d sat on a bench for a while. Normally, the slowly flowing river calmed him, but today the monotonous lapping of the water had put him in an agonizing state of heightened awareness, which made him even more cognizant of the wretchedness of his life and his total lack of prospects. To escape the senseless replay of his thoughts, he’d started jogging along the river, all the way to Goldstein and back.
Total physical exhaustion was normally the best way to put a stop to these bitter thoughts. But this time, it hadn’t worked. Maybe it was because of the unbearable heat. A cold shower had brought only temporary relief; half an hour later, he was again drenched in sweat, tossing and turning in bed. A shrill ringtone suddenly came from his cell phone, which was in its charging stand on the table. Who could it be at this hour? he wondered. He stood up and glanced at the display, then took the call.
“Sorry to disturb you again so late,” said a rough bass voice. “Turn on the TV. It’s on every channel.”
Before he could reply, the caller hung up. He grabbed the remote and switched on the tiny TV at the foot of his bed.
Seconds later, he saw the serious face of a blond woman on the screen. Blue lights were flashing behind her, and black water glinted between the trees illuminated by floodlights.
“… of a young girl was found,” he heard the woman say. “According to preliminary estimates, the body had been in the water for several days. We hope to obtain additional information from the autopsy.”
He froze.
Two men were loading a stretcher with a body bag on it into the hearse, and behind them two figures clad in protective overalls were carrying a plastic bag. Then the camera panned over to the sluiceway.
“Not far from the locks at Eddersheim, the body of a young girl was discovered today floating in the Main,” said the voiceover. “The identity of the girl is unknown, and the police are hoping for tips from the public. This is reminiscent of a similar case from a few years ago.”
An older man blinked under the bright lights.
“Yep, I remember there was a girl found in the river once before. It was over there in Höchst, at the Wörthspitze. To this day, they don’t know who the poor girl was. If I remember rightly, it was around ten years ago, and then…”
He turned off the TV and stood there in the dark. He was breathing hard, as if he’d been running.
“Nine,” he whispered in a strained voice. “It was nine years ago.”
Fear crept like goose bumps all over his body. His probation officer knew that he lived here. So it would be no problem for the police and the SA’s office to locate him. What was going to happen now? Would they remember him?
All trace of fatigue had left him, and his thoughts were coming thick and fast. There was no hope of going to sleep. He switched on the light and took the cleaning bucket and a bottle of bleach from the ca
binet next to the kitchen unit. They were going to come here, search through everything, and they’d find her DNA in his trailer! No way could he let that happen, because if he violated probation, he’d have to go straight back to the joint.
* * *
Pia closed the front door carefully, making sure that the dogs weren’t going to break out in a chorus of welcoming barks and wake Christoph. But no dog awaited her on the enclosed porch; instead, she smelled the aroma of roast meat and saw that a light was on in the kitchen. She set her shoulder bag and car keys on the hall cabinet. The four dogs were sitting in the kitchen, watching Christoph’s every movement with synchronized adoration. He was standing at the stove, dressed in shorts, the T-shirt he wore to bed, and an apron, holding two meat forks in his hands. The fan on the stove was on high.
“Hi,” Pia said in astonishment. “Are you awake or sleepwalking?”
The dogs turned their heads only briefly and wagged their tails; then they went back to watching what was happening on the stove, which was much more interesting.
“Hey, sweetie,” said Christoph with a grin. “I was almost asleep when I remembered that I’d left the roulades in the fridge. And I promised Lilly that I’d make roulades for a homecoming dinner.”
Pia had to smile. She went over and gave him a kiss.
“In all of Germany, could there be another man who would get up at one-thirty in the morning to roast roulades when the temperature is almost eighty degrees? Unbelievable.”
“I’ve even filled them,” Christoph said, not without pride. “Mustard, cucumbers, bacon, onions. A promise is a promise.”
Pia took off Kröger’s fleece jacket and hung it over the back of a chair before plopping down onto the seat.
“How was your class reunion?” Christoph asked. “Must have been fun if you could stand being there so long.”
“Oh, the reunion.” Pia had totally forgotten about it. The laughing and chattering women on the terrace of the Villa Borgnis beneath the velvety black sky filled with stars seemed to her like a harmless idyllic short film before the horror flick called reality. And in this particular reality, a teenager had died.