‘Frank?’ I cleared my throat.
‘You bumped into me and didn’t even turn to look.’
He changed lanes.
‘Frank!’
‘Anyone would think you’re blind.’
‘Fraaank!’
‘What is it?’ he asked brusquely.
‘She is blind!’
‘You’re kidding...’ He looked round in a hurry.
‘Really?’
We both nodded and Alina opened her eyes. Two polished marbles that looked as if the corneas had been replaced by frosted glass.
‘I... I never noticed,’ he stammered.
‘Thanks,’ Alina said drily.
I turned off the interior light. For a while nothing could be heard but the monotonous hum of the engine, the hiss of tyres on wet asphalt and a sporadic squeak from the windscreen wipers.
Frank tried again. ‘I mean, now you come to mention it, I do remember your cane.’
We had left Ernst-Reuter-Platz behind and were driving along Strasse des 17. Juni.
‘But man, you were so purposeful. I mistook you for some kind of Nordic walker when you brushed past me.’
‘I was furious.’
‘You looked it.’
‘How do you do it, though?’ he asked. ‘Yesterday you went running down the steps at police headquarters and today you get into this car unaided.’
‘I’m blind, not paraplegic.’
Frank turned as puce as if she’d slapped his face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘You didn’t. No more than anyone else does, anyway.’
Alina seemed aware of the slightly acidic undertone in her voice, because it had gone the next time she spoke. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve had a lifetime’s practice at taking the piss out of people. For instance, if I’m trying to pick up a guy in a club where the lights are really low, I make bets with my girlfriends on how long it’ll take him to notice I’m blind.’ She laughed.
Frank’s curiosity seemed to have been aroused. ‘Know something?’ he said eagerly. ‘I did my national service as an orderly in a nursing home, and a group of blind people used to turn up there every Saturday. Sorry to be so blunt, but compared to you they looked kind of...’ – I guessed he was going to say ‘dumb’, but he corrected himself before I could clear my throat again – ‘... well, kind of odd. Some of them wagged their heads and others kept rubbing their eyes. And most of their faces were stiff – like masks. I mean, they were quite expressionless, like after a Botox injection. Whereas you...’
‘What about me?’ Alina rested her elbows on the back of our seats and leant forwards.
‘The first time I spoke to you, you nodded and raised your eyebrows. Now you’re smiling and running your fingers through your hair. Which looks pretty cool, by the way.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling more broadly. ‘I’ve practised them.’
‘What?’
‘Gestures and facial expressions. I think that’s the problem when blind or partially sighted people are segregated too young. My parents fought tooth and nail to prevent me from being sent to a special school after the accident. Sure, I went to a summer camp for blind kids once a year, but the rest of the time I attended an ordinary school and horsed around in the playground with my sighted friends. There were differences, of course. I had my own computer for making notes in class, and I had to cycle between two girlfriends so I could get my bearings from the sounds they made, but I did ride a bike.
Although I fell over more often than the others, my classmates soon got used to the sight of the little lunatic who bumped into the climbing frame in the playground but didn’t let it get her down and scrambled to her feet right away.’
She sank back against the seat. With its brown loose covers and the emergency loo roll on the parcel shelf, the car could only have belonged to an old age pensioner. I would have bet a year’s salary on what I would find in the glove compartment if I looked: a scrupulously maintained service record together with all the right documents and the phone numbers to call in the event of a crash or breakdown. Me, I didn’t even have a regulation warning triangle in my boot.
‘I don’t know what it’s like here in Germany, but in the States there are a lot of institutions where the blind are more or less left to themselves. If sighted kids get bored they start picking their noses, pulling faces, chucking building bricks at each other – things like that – but there’s usually someone around to tell them off. When blind kids are among themselves, nobody notices if they act strangely. Often, even their supervisors are blind too. Or uninterested.’
She fondled TomTom’s head. The guide dog was dozing. Like a soldier in combat, he was clearly used to grabbing some sleep whenever he could.
‘By the time rubbing your eyes and rocking to and fro have become second nature, they’re very hard habits to get out of. Most normal folk assume that this “hospitalism”, this institutional behaviour, is part of a blind person’s clinical condition and don’t dare say anything. They’d find it even more embarrassing than telling a person they’ve got some snot dangling from their nose.’
She laughed loudly. TomTom raised his big head in surprise.
‘Right from the start I was lucky enough to have the help of a good friend at nursery school. John always corrected me if I behaved oddly – if I looked sour when I was simply concentrating, or if I unconsciously rolled my eyes and made people nervous. He was my reflection, so to speak.’
I instinctively looked in the rear-view mirror and Frank glanced over his shoulder.
‘He taught me gestures and facial expressions – showed me all the tricky conversational tactics.’
Alina leant forwards again. She made a moue and ran her tongue lasciviously over her lower lip, then fluttered her eyelids coquettishly with her head on one side, looking demure.
Frank, who had been watching this sample of her acting technique out of the corner of his eye, couldn’t help laughing.
‘It was John who taught me how to flirt.’
And lie?
The longer I spent with this girl, who was exceptional in almost every way, the more of an enigma she seemed. On the one hand, she talked rationally and gave me fascinating insights into the world of darkness in which she lived and of which I knew next to nothing; on the other, she claimed to have supernatural powers even Nicci would have been staggered by. I came to the conclusion that she was either deranged or a consummate actress. Or both.
When I look back on those minutes in the car today, in the knowledge of all that happened later, I have to laugh at my cluelessness. But it’s more of a death rattle than a laugh. The sort of hacking sound someone makes on the verge of spitting up blood.
I have to laugh because I seriously believed myself to be the master of my fate. I thought my instructions to Frank were determining our route, which ultimately led, not to Alina’s Prenzlberg flat, but straight to death’s door.
I was exhausted and confused, admittedly, but I thought I still had a firm grip on the reins. In reality, the Eye Collector had taken them over long ago.
It would be only a few hours before I made that agonizing discovery for myself.
52
(8 HOURS 39 MINUTES TO THE DEADLINE)
Frank spent the rest of the drive firing countless questions at Alina and me in turn. He eventually prevailed on me to give him a brief résumé of the events of the last few hours, starting with our rendezvous on the houseboat (whose exact location I concealed from him, along with my appointment with Dr Roth). I told him about the ultimatum’s additional seven minutes and our fruitless incursion into Thomas Traunstein’s villa.
His response to Alina’s bizarre testimony turned out to be far less sceptical than mine.
‘You mean you believe her?’ I asked uneasily. Now that all the details she’d supplied apart from the length of the ultimatum had gone up in smoke, all I wanted was to keep my promise and take Alina home as soon as possible. Having had my fill of inexplicable phen
omena for the time being, I had no wish to go chasing after any more figments of her imagination.
Frank avoided a direct answer. ‘The idea of employing mediums to solve cases goes back a long way,’ he said.
We had reached Brunnenstrasse and were heading for Weinberg Park.
‘Leipzig’s one-time police chief, Detective Superintendent Engelbrecht, carried out a paranormal experiment with a telepathically gifted person back in 1919,’ Frank went on. We pulled up at the entrance, set between two brightly-lit but deserted art galleries. One of them exhibited a saddleless bicycle suspended above a flickering electric bulb, the other an old valve TV set painted pink and displaying a snowy test card. The art, if that’s what they were meant to be, left me at even more of a loss than Frank’s verbal diarrhoea.
‘And in 1921 there even existed a Viennese institute devoted to forensic telepathic research, though only for a few months.’
‘How do you know all this?’ asked Alina.
‘He needs a spam filter in his head,’ I explained. ‘He remembers every word he reads. Saves me taking a notebook when I research a story with him.’
I yawned and stretched. I wanted to get rid of Frank and Alina and head for Radow as soon as possible.
To see Nicci.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard.
And Julian.
Ten p.m.
Two hours to my son’s birthday.
Even though I hadn’t bought Julian a present, the least I could do was wish him a happy birthday before I surrendered myself to Stoya’s tender mercies.
‘The first case that really made waves in Germany was that of Minna Schmidt, the Frankfurt “dreamer”, in 1921.’ Frank, who showed no signs of drying up, seemed to have acquired an interested audience in Alina. Although TomTom kept thrusting his muzzle into her hand, she made no move to get out of the car.
‘After two mayors of Heidelberg were murdered in quick succession, she dreamt the exact location of their bodies.’
‘Coincidence.’ I yawned.
‘Possibly, but there are plenty of documented cases in which clairvoyants have assisted the police.’ He looked at me, flushed with enthusiasm for his subject. ‘Even you must have heard of one of them. The Hanns-Martin Schleyer case. You know, the captain of industry who was murdered by the Red Army Faction.’
‘What of it?’
‘Do you remember how Bunte splashed it in 1977?’
‘Thanks, I’m not that old.’
‘“Clairvoyant Saw Schleyer’s Hideaway ”.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘That was the headline. Stern got in on the act too, and Spiegel even carried an interview with Gérard Croiset, the Dutch psychic. It’s on record that he was consulted by special investigators, a police psychologist, and an officer from the German armed forces, during the second week of the search for Schleyer.’
‘The armed forces too?’
‘They have a department for psychological defence.’
TomTom whimpered and Alina gave his head a soothing pat. The poor beast evidently needed to go again.
‘The German CID were embarrassed that Croiset’s involvement had become public. Two years later, however, the police psychologist confirmed that he had supplied definite clues to the high-rise building in which Schleyer had been kept hidden. According to the psychologist, his life would have been saved if the authorities had followed up Croiset’s leads.’
‘That’s just a modern myth,’ I objected.
‘But not the only one. In the early 1990s alone, over a hundred so-called sensitives offered their services to the Bavarian authorities. Nationwide the figure must be much higher.’ Frank turned to Alina. ‘So you aren’t an isolated case.’
‘I don’t know what I am,’ she said, sounding very weary all of a sudden. ‘Apart from tired.’ A moment later, very quietly, she added, ‘And thirsty.’
She opened her mouth as if to say something more but appeared to think better of it. Her face froze. Silently, in an almost apprehensive manner, she got out of the car.
‘Something wrong?’ I asked. I caught her up and repeated the question. Frank, who had also got out, was watching us intently over the top of the car. Alina seemed to have been struck by an idea and looked as if she was trying hard to banish it from her mind. She gestured to TomTom to keep still, then turned her rucksack round in order to unzip an outer pocket. I waited for a young couple to pass us, giggling and snuggling up beneath an umbrella. ‘What did you think of just now?’ I asked.
Just after you said you were thirsty.
‘Yesterday. I stopped to drink something.’
Yesterday. After the murder!
I froze.
‘I was going to tell you that earlier, but you turned off to Traunstein’s place.’
‘Where was it? Where did you stop?’
‘In some kind of entrance. I definitely hadn’t driven far.’
‘How do you know?’ I asked. ‘I thought you had no sense of time in your visions.’
‘I was still feeling exhausted.’
After putting the child in the boot...
‘And my back felt moist. I was sweating. I know the sensation – I get it when I’ve been jogging and slow down. I know how it feels when I take a longish rest. I was still wringing wet.’
She had been rummaging in the outside pocket the whole time. At last she seemed to find what she was looking for. There was a jingling sound. Then she produced a big bunch of keys. Each was attached to a ring of a different shape, some with little projections, others with notches in them. Having felt them all in turn, she selected a medium-sized security key.
‘So you drove for less than five minutes?’ I hazarded.
She nodded. ‘More like three. I was very thirsty, as I told you.’
‘What sort of entrance was it? The entrance to a forecourt? A block of flats?’
‘No, no, I got it wrong. Driveway would be a better description – the kind we had in California. Where you park your car in front of the garage.’
‘So the driveway belonged to a house?’
‘Yes.’
‘A terrace house?’
She shook her head. ‘Detached. It was small, though. I think it was a bungalow, but I’m not quite sure.’
I thought for a moment. ‘What else can you remember? Any distinctive features? Modern, pre-war? Any special colour? Was it fenced off, did it have shutters? What about the roof?’
She shook her head again. Then she suddenly stopped short and screwed up her eyes. ‘A basketball hoop,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘In the driveway. But not above the garage doors in the usual away. A little to one side, screwed to a tree on the boundary between the driveway and the neighbouring property.’
‘Okay, Alina. So you drove to a house with a basketball hoop in the driveway, somewhere in the same district as Traunstein’s place.’ I took a step towards her. We were within touching distance now. ‘What did you do there?’
51
Alina was trembling. It might just have been the cold, but I wasn’t sure.
‘I went into the kitchen.’
So the front door was either unlocked or she had a key.
‘And got yourself something to drink?’
‘Yes, a Coca-Cola.’ She passed a hand nervously over her face and tucked one of her corkscrew dreadlocks behind her ear.
‘You know what the bottles look like?’
‘White lettering on red. Any blind person would recognize a Coca-Cola if it was put in front of them.’ She laughed and pulled TomTom a little closer to her.
‘Anyway, it was a can. There were four of them in a side compartment in the fridge. I helped myself to one.’
‘And then?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing. That’s all I can remember.’
My eyes strayed to Frank, who had been listening to her spellbound. I took advantage of the break to tell him to get back to the office in double-quick time.
‘Oh please!’ he groane
d. ‘Not now. It’s just getting exciting.’
‘Sorry, kid, but all hell must have broken loose there, and people will smell a rat if they can’t contact my favourite trainee just when the police are looking for me.’ I gave his bony shoulder a farewell pat. ‘But not a word to Bergdorf, and stay near the phone in case I need your help again.’
Frank put his hand to an imaginary peaked cap, army fashion, and plodded off after saying goodbye to Alina.
I looked at my watch and proceeded to do some mental arithmetic. According to the police press release, the Traunstein children had been kidnapped early in the morning. Charlie’s husband hadn’t discovered her body in the garden until later, around nine a.m., or just before the stopwatch set itself going automatically at exactly nine-twenty. The Eye Collector would certainly have left the scene well before that, but I was unable to work out when the psychopath had made his pit stop.
If he ever did.
Frank had set off for the taxi rank on the next corner. I watched him go, shaking my head. The very fact that I was running another check on a blind girl’s visions made me doubt my own sanity.
After taking a few steps Frank turned, shook some snowflakes out of his hair, and pulled the hood of his anorak over his head.
That was the crucial moment.
If he hadn’t done that, the lunacy might have ended at that point. I would have gone to see my son before surrendering to Stoya and the subsequent course of my life would have been different. But the instant when my trainee paused outside the art gallery’s window changed everything.
Everything. What I did next. My destiny.
My life itself.
As if in a trance I set off after Frank. Without turning round again, he had already reached the next intersection.
‘Well, this is where I live,’ I heard Alina say. She evidently thought I was still beside the car, whereas I was already standing on the spot where Frank had pulled up his hood.
Right in front of the gallery’s display window.
Alina, waiting outside her block of flats, was preparing to insert the key in the front door.
‘What did you say?’ I said absently. I took another step towards the window, now so close to it that my breath filmed the glass. Visible in semi-profile on the television screen that had been showing a test card was an unshaven, dark-haired man waving jerkily at an invisible camera inside the gallery. I was looking at myself !
Eye Collector, The Page 13