by Nele Neuhaus
She kicked off the sling-back heels, which were now candidates for the garbage can after she’d tramped through the underbrush.
“Yes, it was quite nice. But unfortunately, I had to leave and go to work.”
“Work?” Christoph turned and raised his eyebrows. He knew what nighttime work meant in Pia’s profession. It was seldom benign. “Bad?”
“Yep.” She leaned her elbows on the table and rubbed her face. “Really bad. A dead girl, and two teenagers who drank themselves into a coma.”
Christoph didn’t bother with a cliché like “Oh God, I’m sorry.” Instead, he asked, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Yeah, a nice cold beer would hit the spot about now, even though I was once again reminded this evening that alcohol doesn’t solve any problems, only creates them.”
She was about to get up, but Christoph shook his head.
“Stay there. I’ll get it for you.”
He put down the meat forks, covered the roasts, and turned down the temperature of the gas oven. Then he took two bottles of beer out of the fridge and opened them.
“Glass?”
“No. Not necessary.”
Christoph handed Pia a bottle and sat down next to her at the table.
“Thanks.” She took a big swig. “I’m afraid you’ll have to pick up Lilly by yourself tomorrow. Since there’s nobody else at the office, I’ll have to go to the autopsy. Sorry.”
The next day, Christoph’s seven-year-old granddaughter was arriving from Australia to stay at Birkenhof for four weeks. When Pia learned of the plan a couple of weeks before, she hadn’t been especially enthusiastic. She and Christoph both had full-time jobs, and they couldn’t leave a small child alone in the house. What upset her most was the selfishness of Lilly’s mother, Anna, Christoph’s second-eldest daughter. Anna’s companion and father of the little girl was a marine biologist, and he’d taken over the leadership of a research expedition in Antarctica that spring. Anna wanted to go with him, but it was impossible to take a school-age child along. At that time, Christoph had turned down her request to take care of Lilly, saying that she was the mother and was responsible for her daughter, so she would have to forgo the trip. Anna had begged desperately, until Christoph and Pia finally agreed on a compromise. They would take care of the girl during the two weeks of Australian winter vacation. Anna was the only one of Christoph’s three daughters whom Pia didn’t particularly like, and she wasn’t surprised when the two weeks turned into four. Anna had pulled one of her tricks with Lilly’s school and arranged a leave of absence for her daughter. Typical. So once again, she’d been successful at getting her way.
“That’s no problem.” He reached out and stroked Pia’s cheek. “What happened?”
“It’s all a bit mysterious.” She took another swallow of beer. “A sixteen-year-old boy who’s in a coma after an orgy of drinking, and a young girl we fished out of the Main. She must have been in the river for a long time, because her body had been run over and partially shredded by the screws of an outboard motor.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It was, believe me. We have no idea who the girl is. There’s no missing person’s report that fits her description.”
For a while, they sat at the kitchen table, drinking beer without talking. That was one of the many traits that Pia loved about Christoph. Not only did she find it easy to talk to him but they could also sit in silence without feeling uncomfortable. He always knew when she wanted to talk about something or when she simply needed his silent company.
“It’s already two o’clock.” Pia got up. “I think I’ll jump in the shower and then go to bed.”
“I’ll be finished here soon.” Christoph stood up, too. “I just have to clean up the kitchen.”
Pia grabbed his wrist, and he stopped and looked at her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“What for?”
“For being you.”
He smiled. She loved the way he smiled.
“That’s all I have to give,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled up to him and felt his lips on her hair. And for a moment, everything was all right.
* * *
“We’re going to Uncle Richard’s, just you and me,” said Papa, motioning her over. “Then you can ride the pony and open your presents.”
Oh yes, she wanted to ride the pony! And all by herself with Papa, without Mama and her brothers and sisters! She was happy and excited. She’d been to Uncle Richard’s only a couple of times with Papa, but it was strange that she couldn’t quite remember the house or the ponies. She was looking forward to it immensely, because Papa was also taking along the lovely new dress that she had tried on but never worn until now.
She looked at herself in the mirror, touched her fingertips to the little red hood on her head, and laughed. The dress was a real dirndl, with a short skirt and apron. Papa had plaited her hair into two braids, and she really looked exactly like Little Red Riding Hood in her fairy-tale book.
He always brought presents—it was a secret that she and Papa shared, because he never brought anything for the others. Only for her. She was his favorite. Mama had gone away with her siblings, so Papa had her all to himself.
“Did you bring something for me?” she asked curiously, because the big paper shopping bag was still bulging.
“Of course.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Here, do you want to take a look?”
She nodded eagerly. He took another dress out of the paper bag. It was red, and the material felt cool and very soft under her fingers.
“A princess dress for my little princess,” he said. “And I bought you some matching shoes, too. Red ones.”
“Oh, awesome! Can I peek?”
“No, later. We have to go. Uncle Richard is waiting for us.”
She let him pick her up, snuggling close. She loved his deep voice and the scent of pipe tobacco on his clothes.
A little later, they were sitting in his car. They drove for quite a while, and she got excited whenever she saw something she recognized. It was a game that she always played with Papa when they were together on a secret outing. That’s what he called it, because she couldn’t tell her siblings, or they’d be jealous.
Finally, the road came to an end after passing through the woods to a clearing where there was a big wooden house with a porch and green shutters.
“That looks just like the one in my fairy-tale book!” she cried excitedly, and she was delighted to see the ponies in the meadow in front of the house.
“Can I take a ride now?” She was fidgeting on the seat.
“Of course.” Papa laughed and parked the Mercedes next to a couple of other cars. There was always something going on at Uncle Richard’s, and that made her happy, too, because they were all friends of Papa and had brought presents and candy for her.
She got out of the car and ran over to the ponies, who let her pet them. Uncle Richard came out and asked which pony she wanted to ride. She liked the white one the best. His name was Fluff; she remembered that now. How sad that she knew the pony’s name but couldn’t remember anything about what the house looked like inside.
After half an hour, they went inside. Papa’s and Uncle Richard’s friends were there. They all said a cheerful hello and admired her dirndl and red hood. She turned around to show it off and laughed.
“Okay, now take off the dirndl.” Papa put the shopping bag on the table and took out the dress. Uncle Richard set her on his lap and helped her put on the dress and the genuine silk stockings, the kind that Mama wore. The others laughed because she was so clumsy attaching the garters, which were fastened to a belt. That was fun!
But the most beautiful thing was the dress—a real princess dress in red. And the red shoes to go with it, with high heels.
She looked at herself in the mirror and felt so proud. Papa was proud, too; he led her through the living room and up the stairs, as if they were at a wedding. Uncle Ri
chard led the way and opened a door. She was amazed to see in the room a genuine princess bed with a canopy.
“What are we going to play now?” she asked.
“Something that’s a lot of fun,” replied Papa. “We’re going to change our clothes, too. Just wait here.”
She nodded, then climbed onto the bed and began hopping around. They had all admired her beautiful dress and were so nice to her. The door opened, and she uttered a frightened cry when she saw the wolf. But then she had to laugh. It wasn’t a real wolf after all; it was only Papa, who had put on a costume. How lovely it was that she was the only one to share this secret with Papa. Too bad she could never remember anything afterward. That was really sad.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Hanna Herzmann had not slept well. She’d had one nightmare after another, and in one of them Vinzenz had been on her TV show, making her look like a fool with the cameras running. Then Norman had threatened her, and in her dream he suddenly turned into that man who’d been stalking her for months, until he was picked up by the police and sentenced to two years in prison as a repeat offender.
She finally got up at five-thirty and rinsed off the sticky sweat of anxiety in the shower. Now she was sitting at her computer with a cup of coffee. As she’d feared, the Web was full of the crazy story.
Damn! Hanna massaged the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t too late for damage control, but it would have to be done fast, before more unhappy guests on her show started encouraging people to do the same thing as Armin V. and Bettina B. Unimaginable what the consequences might be. Even if her broadcast wasn’t yet under threat, station management wasn’t going to back her up forever. It was too early to call Wolfgang, so she decided to go for a run and come up with some new ideas. She always thought better when she was running. She put on her exercise clothes, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and slipped on her running shoes. In the past, she had run every day, but now that her foot problems had grown worse, she ran only occasionally.
The air was still fresh and clear. Hanna did some deep-breathing exercises and stretches on the front steps, then turned on her iPod and looked for the music she wanted to hear. She walked down the street to the corner by the parking lot, then turned into the woods and began to run. Every step hurt like hell, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep running. After only a few hundred yards she had a stitch in her side, but she kept on going in spite of it. She wasn’t going to give up. Hanna Herzmann never gave up. All her life, she’d regarded any headwinds or problems as nothing but a challenge and incentive, never as a reason to stick her head in the sand. Pain was purely a mental matter, and she wasn’t going to let it affect her. If she were a different sort of person, she never would have chosen such a career for herself, or been so successful. Ambition, persistence, endurance—these qualities always got her through hard times.
Fourteen years ago, with her investigative reporting program In Depth, Hanna had developed a completely new, revolutionary format that had caused a furor (as well as dream ratings) in the German television world. The concept was simple and inspired: a wide-ranging mixture of explosive and topical reportage that had an impact on people in the state of Hessen, including personal stories, human drama, garnished with prominent guests—all in ninety minutes of prime time. There had never been anything like it on TV before. Success brought out the copycats, but no show with a similar focus was as popular as hers. And her media presence had a number of thoroughly lucrative side effects: She was one of the most recognizable faces on TV and was always in demand. If the money was right, she was willing to moderate gala broadcasts and award shows. She also developed ideas and concepts for other formats, and was well paid for her efforts. Ten years ago, she had founded Herzmann Productions, and she now produced the show herself.
The flip side of her professional success was her screwed-up private life. Obviously, there was no man who could stand to play second fiddle to her fame. Meike’s words from last night shot through Hanna’s mind. Was it true? Was she really a tank running right over everyone else?
“And what if I am?” she murmured with a trace of spite. That’s the way she was. She didn’t need a man in her life.
At the first crossing in the woods, she decided to take the longer path and turned to the right. Her breathing was steady now and her gait looser. She had found her running rhythm and could hardly feel the pain. From experience, she knew that it would soon disappear entirely; just a couple minutes more before her body began producing the endorphins that would switch off the pain and fatigue. Now she could focus her thoughts on her problem and enjoy the nature surrounding her: the tangy smell that the forest exuded only in the early-morning hours, the springy ground, which was so much more pleasant to run on than asphalt. It was a little past seven when she reached the edge of the woods and saw the white dome of the Baha’i temple gleaming in the sun, which was already high in the sky. Although she hadn’t run recently, she wasn’t yet out of breath. She wasn’t entirely out of shape. It would take her another twenty minutes to go back through the woods to the community of weekend cabins. She was bathed in sweat as she resumed her pace, but this time it was more pleasant, real athletic sweat, not the anxious sweat of last night. And she had also figured out a strategy that she could discuss with Wolfgang at lunch. Hanna removed her earbuds and rummaged in the pocket of her jacket for her house key. As she ran past, she glanced at her car, which she hadn’t put back in the garage last night, but left parked next to Meike’s Mini.
What was that?
Hanna couldn’t believe her eyes. All four tires on her black Porsche Panamera were flat! She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve and went over to take a look. One flat tire could be a coincidence, but not all four. As she examined the car more closely, she saw something even worse. She stopped short. Her heart began to race, her knees went weak, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears of helpless rage. Somebody had scratched a single word into the gleaming black lacquer of the hood. Just one word, brutal and unequivocal, in big sloppy letters: CUNT.
* * *
Bodenstein set a cup under the spigot of the coffee machine and pressed the button. The grinder churned, and seconds later an exquisite aroma was spreading through the tiny kitchen.
Inka had driven him home shortly after midnight. As they were eating pizza, he’d done most of the talking, but he didn’t realize this until she dropped him off at the parking lot in front of the carriage house. After they had taken a look at the house, Inka had been more laconic than ever, and Bodenstein asked himself whether he’d said or done anything that might have made her mad. Hadn’t he adequately thanked her for picking him up at the airport and giving him a key to the house? In his euphoria over the liberated feeling with which he’d returned from Potsdam, he’d spent the whole evening talking only about himself and his mental state. That wasn’t like him at all. Bodenstein decided to call Inka later to apologize.
He finished his coffee and squeezed into the tiny, windowless bathroom. After the almost luxurious facilities in the hotel in Potsdam, it seemed darker and more cramped than ever.
It was high time to arrange a proper place to live, with his own furniture, a decent bathroom, and a kitchen with more than just two hot plates. He’d had enough of the two rooms in the carriage house, with their low ceilings and the tiny windows that were hardly bigger than fortress embrasures, and the door frames, barely high enough for dwarfs, on which he was always hitting his head. He was also fed up with being a guest in the house of his parents and his brother, and he knew that his sister-in-law was looking for a more desirable tenant for the carriage house than some relative who only wanted to split the costs. She kept asking bluntly when he intended to move out, and lately she had even brought potential tenants by to look the place over.
In the meager light of the forty-watt bulb above the mirror, Bodenstein shaved as best he could. To tell the truth, the house that he had looked at yesterday with Inka had haunted his dreams all
night long. This morning, half-asleep, he had started furnishing it in his mind. Sophia would have her own room close to his, and finally he could have visitors again. The house in Kelkheim was as good as sold; it was due to close with the buyers next week. With his half of the proceeds, he was sure he could afford to buy the duplex in Ruppertshain.
There was some sort of commotion outside, and he heard voices. A second cup of coffee raised his spirits. He set the cup in the sink, grabbed his jacket, and took the car keys from the hook by the front door. In the parking lot, city workers from Kelkheim were unloading barriers from their orange truck. It occurred to him that tonight there was going to be a jazz concert in the courtyard. The town regularly rented out the historic estate for cultural events, and Bodenstein’s parents were happy to have the extra income. Bodenstein locked the front door and nodded to the workers on his way to the car. Someone honked behind him, and he turned around. Marie-Louise, his talented sister-in-law, pulled in next to him.
“Good morning!” she called. “I’ve tried to call you a zillion times. Rosalie got invited to the Concours des Jeunes Chefs Rôtisseurs in Frankfurt! Actually, she wanted to tell you herself, but she couldn’t reach you. What’s wrong with your cell phone?”
Rosalie, Bodenstein’s older daughter, had decided two years ago not to take her university entrance exams, but instead to start an apprenticeship to become a chef. At first, he and Cosima had thought that the main reason for this decision was that Rosalie was secretly in love with a celebrity chef. They were sure that after a couple of months under the thumb of that strict Frenchman, she’d throw in the towel. But Rosalie had talent, and she’d tackled the job with enthusiasm. She had completed her apprenticeship with flying colors. The invitation to the cooking contest of the Chaîne des Rôtisseurs was a great honor and a validation of her achievement.
“I haven’t had any reception all morning.” Bodenstein held up his smartphone with a shrug. “It’s funny, really.”