by Nele Neuhaus
“Now?” Hanna’s gaze shifted to the clock on the display of the phone charger. “It’s already ten o’clock. What’s this about anyway?”
She had no desire to get back in her car and drive to Liederbach.
“It’s … it … it’s a very explosive story, which might be extremely interesting for you as a journalist.” Leonie Verges lowered her voice. “I can’t tell you any more on the phone.”
Precisely as Ms. Verges had slyly intended, Hanna’s journalistic instincts reacted to this wording like Pavlov’s dog to the sound of a bell. She realized she was being manipulated, but her professional curiosity was stronger than her fatigue.
“Give me half an hour,” she said, and hung up.
Meike didn’t intend to go out again, so she magnanimously lent Hanna her Mini. Five minutes later, Hanna backed out of the driveway. She put the top down and stuck her iPhone in the console, then selected the music she wanted to hear. Hanna listened to music only when she was driving or jogging. The tiny car had a gigantic Harman/Kardon stereo system in it, and even with the top down, the sound was sensational.
At this time of night, the air was warm and pleasant, and the nearby forest exuded a beguiling fragrance. All her weariness was gone.
Freddie Mercury, the most gifted singer of all time, began to sing. His voice sent a pleasant shiver down Hanna’s back, and she turned up the volume until the bass notes of “Love Kills” vibrated in her diaphragm.
The Mini jolted along the road, which in recent years had acquired a lot more potholes and patches, until it now looked like a patchwork quilt. At the main highway, Hanna turned left.
“Now I’m really curious to hear what this is all about,” she said to herself, and stepped on the gas.
* * *
Kathrin Fachinger’s remark kept whirling through Pia’s mind all afternoon. How did she know secrets from Behnke’s past? To her dismay, Bodenstein hadn’t said another word on the topic, but Pia suspected that it had something to do with the case that her boss had mentioned when they drove over to the forensics lab. But how could Kathrin know anything about that?
When Pia returned home at half past nine, Lilly was already in bed. She took off her shoes and got a cold beer from the fridge. Christoph was sitting on the new deck, which they’d added to the rear of the house as part of the renovation. She’d called him earlier to tell him not to wait for her with dinner.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a kiss.
“Hi.” He took off his reading glasses and put down his book next to a stack of newspapers and computer printouts.
“What are you doing?” Pia sat down on the bench, removed the elastic from her hair, and stretched out her legs. The steady roar of the nearby autobahn was almost inaudible here, and the view of the neighboring yards and the apple orchards of the Elisabethenhof stretching all the way to the Taunus hills in the distance offered a much more attractive backdrop than the view from their old deck. Crickets chirped and there was a smell of damp earth and lavender.
“Actually, I was trying to write an article for a journal, which I’ve been putting off for days,” said Christoph, yawning heartily. “I promised to have it done by tomorrow, but somehow I just can’t seem to concentrate.”
Pia assumed that Lilly had been keeping him on the go all day, but contrary to her fears, the visit seemed to be off to a good start. The little girl had spent the whole day at the zoo and had behaved well. Christoph had left her in the care of the zoo’s two teachers.
“So? Are they still alive?” Pia asked with a teasing undertone.
“Yes, they seemed quite fond of her.”
“They probably wouldn’t dare say anything negative about the granddaughter of the zoo director,” said Pia, who was still of the opinion that Lilly was a spoiled brat.
“Then you don’t know those two very well,” replied Christoph. “The zoo is not a dictatorship.”
The candle in the lantern on the table flickered as three suicidal moths danced dangerously close to the flame. The four dogs dozed on the basalt plates, which radiated the heat of the day like a floor heater. They were now joined by the fat black tomcat and his gray tabby partner, both of whom had showed up in the spring and claimed Birkenhof as their home. The female cat was rather aloof, but the tom strutted with dignity through the tangle of stretched-out dog legs until he found a spot he liked. He curled up between the forepaws and belly of Simba, the husky half-breed. A rumble issued from the dog’s throat, but it was an expression of contentment, not a threat.
Pia smiled at the sight of this unusual animal camaraderie and felt the stress and tension of the day melt away.
“Speaking of dictatorship…” She took a swig of beer. “Today we heard a real bombshell. A classic case of neighbor denouncing neighbor in the best Stasi style—and in Glashütten, of all places.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Mostly shocking.” Pia, who’d thought nothing could really surprise her anymore, was again stunned by the profound malice of human beings.
“An old married couple from Glashütten called us,” she told Christoph. “They claimed their neighbors had kept the girl that we found in the river hidden in their house for the past six months and exploited her as a maid. The poor thing had to do the most degrading tasks, and she was never allowed outdoors in the daytime. She turned as pale as an albino. And she’d been missing for several days.”
She shook her head at the thought of the girl’s situation.
“The old couple told us genuine horror stories—mistreatment, nighttime sex parties, screams, orgies of beatings. On Tuesday night, they said, they saw the neighbor loading a body into the trunk of his car. Oliver asked why they hadn’t reported it to the police earlier, and they said they were afraid because the man was so violent. So we went to the house and rang the bell, with four colleagues as backup. A woman opened the door, holding a child in her arms. God, was that embarrassing!” Pia rolled her eyes. “There stood my old classmate Moni, whom I’d just seen at the reunion. She was smiling innocently, happy to see me. I tell you, I wanted to sink into the ground, I was so ashamed.”
Christoph listened with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
“It turned out that the Swedish au pair, whom we met, is in perfect health, but she has a sun allergy, which is why she doesn’t like to go outside. And there had been several parties in recent weeks, because first Moni’s husband celebrated his birthday, and then she did.”
“What about the body in the trunk?”
“A golf bag.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. At first, Moni was mad as hell, but then she had to laugh. They built their house there three years ago, and the house belonging to the neighbors’ best friends was torn down when they moved to an old folks home. And since then, the old couple has had nothing better to do than make up stupid stories. They said that Moni’s eldest son was a drug dealer, and that he got in trouble at school because of it, and at church they said that the daughter was a hooker.”
“Sounds like grounds for filing a suit for defamation of character.”
“That’s also what my boss advised Moni.” Pia still couldn’t believe it. “Otherwise, that crazy old couple will never realize what sort of trouble they’re stirring up with all their lies.”
“‘The very meekest cannot be at peace if his ill neighbor will not let him rest,’” Christoph said, quoting Schiller’s William Tell. He got up, stretched, and yawned again. “It’s been a long day, and Lilly will probably be in top form at six in the morning. Grandpa has got to see about getting to bed.”
Pia looked at him and giggled.
“Please don’t make a habit of doing that,” she admonished him.
“What do you mean?” asked Christoph, confused.
“Talking about yourself as ‘Grandpa’ in the third person. It’s so unsexy.…”
Christoph grinned. His teeth gleamed white in the dark. He gathered up the magazines and papers, grabbed his em
pty glass and the bottle of red wine.
“How about if Mommy jumps into a quick shower and then comes to bed with Grandpa?” he teased.
“Only if I can get in under your rheumatism blanket,” Pia countered.
“I’d like nothing better,” he replied, blowing out the candle. The dogs jumped up, yawned, shook themselves, and trotted inside, while the cats preferred to remain outside.
“Let’s just check on Lilly,” said Christoph.
They went to their former bedroom, which now served as a guest room. He put his arm around Pia’s shoulder, and for a moment they watched the child sleeping peacefully.
“She isn’t really that bad,” said Christoph softly. “And she painted you a picture today.”
He pointed to the desk.
“Oh, that’s sweet.” Pia was touched, but then she took a closer look. Her good feelings vanished. “Did you actually look at this picture?”
“No,” said Christoph. “She did it in secret.”
Pia held up the paper for him to see, and Christoph had to leave the room because he was laughing so hard.
“What a little monster,” she muttered.
The picture showed a fat figure with a blond ponytail standing next to a horse and four dogs, and on the top it said For Pia, my deer step gramma.
* * *
The big gate to the estate was closed, and it took Hanna a moment to find the doorbell in the dim glow of a streetlight. Usually, the gate of the courtyard stood wide open, allowing any passerby to see the lovingly arranged garden inside. Leonie Verges undoubtedly had a green thumb. If she weren’t a psychotherapist, she could have easily gotten a job as a gardener. The courtyard was blooming in sumptuous abundance; statues stood among pots, tubs, and beds in which flowers and shrubs had been planted. In a protected spot right next to the wall, there was even an apricot tree.
Hanna heard footsteps behind the gate; then a bolt was shoved back and the little door on the left opened.
“Ah, it’s you,” said Leonie in a hushed voice.
Was she expecting some other visitor at this hour? She stuck her head out and looked past Hanna to peer up and down the empty street.
“Has something happened?” Hanna was slightly irritated by the odd behavior of her therapist, whom she knew only as a calm and levelheaded woman.
“Come in,” Leonie replied, bolting the door behind her. Hanna’s gaze fell on a huge automobile that stood in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard like a tank on guard, its monstrous presence desecrating the magic of this peaceful Garden of Eden. The light of the courtyard lamps glinted off the car’s black lacquer, tinted windows, and chrome.
The clock in the nearby church tower struck eleven times, and all of a sudden Hanna had an uneasy feeling. She hesitated.
“What—” she began, but the therapist pushed her gently but firmly toward the front door.
Inside, the heat of the day still lingered; it was stifling, and Hanna began to sweat. Why was Leonie Verges sitting around inside with her company instead of outside in the courtyard?
She stopped in the hall and grabbed Hanna’s wrist.
“I’m not sure whether it’s a good idea to drag you into this matter.” She was almost whispering. Her dark eyes seemed unnaturally large. “But the others are … well … of another opinion.”
The others? Given the closed gate, the huge black car, and Ms. Verges’s peculiar behavior, it almost sounded as if members of some sort of secret society might be waiting to admit her into their midst with some repulsive initiation rite.
“Leonie, wait.” Hanna did not whisper. She didn’t like secretiveness, and after this horrendous day she was in no mood for unpleasant surprises. “What’s all this about?”
“We’ll explain everything,” the woman said evasively. “Then you can decide for yourself what you think of it.”
She let go of Hanna’s wrist and led the way down the hall to the kitchen. A low murmuring broke off when Hanna stepped through the doorway. At the kitchen table sat a man, who now turned to face her. The room seemed too low and too small for the mountain of muscles and suntanned, tattooed skin that now stood up from a kitchen chair. The man must have been at least six six, and the sight of him instantly set off alarm bells in Hanna’s brain. A dark, sharply trimmed beard, his long hair in a braid, and alert dark eyes that scanned her from head to toe in a second. The man was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, but the dark blue tattoo on his neck was clearly visible. Hanna swallowed hard. That kind of tattoo was worn only by members of the Frankfurt Road Kings, a notorious motorcycle gang. What the hell was one of them doing in her therapist’s kitchen?
“Good evening,” said the giant in an oddly hoarse voice, holding out his hand. On the ring finger of his right hand he wore a heavy silver ring adorned with a skull. “I’m Bernd.”
“Hanna,” she replied, shaking his hand.
Only then did she notice the second man. A glance from disturbingly glacier blue eyes shot through her whole body without warning like an electric shock, making her knees tremble for a moment. She hardly noticed the rest of his face. He was a little taller than she was, but next to the giant, he looked like a dwarf. At that instant, Hanna was only too aware of how she looked—no makeup, her sweaty hair tied in a sloppy knot, T-shirt, jeans, running shoes. She hardly ever left the house looking like this, not even to go jogging.
“What would you like to drink?” Leonie Verges asked. “Water, diet Coke, nonalcoholic beer?”
“Water, thanks,” she said, feeling her initial annoyance changing to curiosity that went beyond purely professional interest in a good story. What was the purpose of this strange team? Why were these two men sitting in Leonie Verges’s kitchen at eleven o’clock at night? Why were they—without knowing her—convinced that she should be included in whatever they were planning? She accepted the glass of water and sat down on the corner bench at the small square table with the checked oilcloth. Mr. Blue Eyes took a seat to her left, and Leonie and the giant sat on the kitchen chairs.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” asked the giant, unexpectedly polite.
“Go ahead.”
He pulled out a pack and snicked his Zippo. A brief smile played across his stony face, as if noticing the craving in Hanna’s eyes.
“Please help yourself.” He shoved the pack over to her. She took a cigarette, thanked him with a nod, and saw that her fingers were trembling. She hadn’t had a smoke in four weeks, and the first drag had the effect of marijuana on her central nervous system. A second and third drag, and the vibration inside her vanished. She felt the gaze of Mr. Blue Eyes like a physical jolt; her skin grew hot and her pulse quickened. She realized that he hadn’t introduced himself. Or had she missed it? Asking him now seemed embarrassing.
For a moment, there was a tense silence as they assessed each other. Finally, Leonie spoke. She was sitting calmly on her chair, almost like in a therapy session, but beneath her laid-back exterior Hanna noticed a nervousness, and lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth—lines that were usually barely noticeable.
“I’ve called you here tonight for reasons that are not entirely altruistic,” she said. “We will tell you what it’s about, and then you can decide for yourself whether you think it might be an interesting story for your show or not. If you aren’t interested, simply forget this conversation. But before we tell you the details”—she paused briefly—“you ought to know that it’s a highly explosive matter, which could be extremely unpleasant and dangerous for a lot of people.”
This sounded like trouble, and right now Hanna needed more of that like a zit on her nose.
“Why did you decide to approach me?” she asked. She reached for the carafe of ice water on the table at the same time as Mr. Blue Eyes. Their hands touched, and she snatched hers back as if she’d been burned.
“Pardon me,” she muttered in embarrassment.
He just smiled briefly, then poured water for her and then himself.
&nbs
p; “Because you have no qualms about taking on hot-button topics,” replied the giant instead of Leonie. “We’re familiar with your show.”
“I don’t normally talk about my patients,” Leonie put in. “My oath of confidentiality forbids it, of course, but in this special case I was released from that constraint, and I hope you will understand why.”
Hanna’s curiosity was definitely piqued, but she was still hesitant. This was not the way she usually worked. She and her team found topics that interested her, in the newspapers—on the Web, on the street. But to be honest, lately this type of research had lost its appeal. She’d interviewed Hartz IV families, single-trick cheats, teenage mothers, criminal migrant children, victims of quacks, and the like on her show dozens of times, and nobody was bowled over by them anymore. It was high time for a story that would draw really big ratings.
“What’s this about?” she asked, taking her voice recorder out of her pocket. “If you’re familiar with my broadcast, then you also know what we focus on. Human-interest stories with a fateful twist are what we do.”
She placed the recorder on the table.
“Is it all right if I record this conversation?”
“No,” said the man with the blue eyes, whose name she didn’t know. “No recording. Just listen carefully. If you don’t want to do it, this meeting never happened.”
Hanna looked at him. Her heart began to pound. She couldn’t stare him down for long. In his eyes she saw a mixture of strength and vulnerability that fascinated and disturbed her at the same time. And this time, she saw more than just his eyes. A sharply chiseled, lean face with a high forehead. Straight nose, prominent chin, a wide, sensitive mouth, his hair slightly graying—a remarkably attractive man. How old could he be? Forty-five or forty-six? What did he have to do with the giant biker guy? Why was he sitting here in Leonie Verges’s kitchen? What secret was weighing on his soul?
She lowered her eyes. In that very second, she’d made up her mind. She was interested by whatever the story might be, but something else was the deciding factor. This good-looking stranger with the piercing blue eyes had completely and unexpectedly touched something deep inside her, something she hadn’t thought even existed.