Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  Carefully, she reached into the neatly hung jacket and her deft fingers found his wallet. She flicked through various cards until she spied the white rim of the identity card. His real name would be on it. A much younger Hans stared out at her, the features softened by extreme youth. But the name staring at her was ‘Gunnar Liss’.

  Gotcha. Her mind was whirling as if she’d drunk too much coffee. He’d been lying to her from the start. She took the card and went to her terrace with her laptop. In a trance she did a Google search for Gunnar Liss but came up with nothing in particular.

  The historic Hans Grans was another story. In some reports he was executed, in others sentenced to twelve years and then, after he did the time, ended up in a death camp. He’d lived in a tiny room, sharing a single bed with a serial killer who had hacked up the bodies of his victims afterwards, but he had claimed to know nothing about it. The relationship between him and Haarmann was ambiguous. In addition, Hans Grans also had three girlfriends who worked for him as prostitutes. Her lover would probably know all the ins and out of it. She pondered, lit a cigarette.

  Why would he take that name? ‘Fritz’ she would have understood, but ‘Hans’? She looked at the picture of Fritz Haarmann again, the broad, slightly simple face, and it reminded her of someone.

  It was just coming to her when a hand touched her shoulder.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Five

  Hans stood there frowning, taking in everything she was doing. He’d already clocked his real ID card on the table and seen the page she was looking at online.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Dorcas. Her voice was hesistant; she couldn’t imagine her next move.

  Hans’s face darkened and Dorcas thought about making a run for it, but then he smiled and casually took out a cigarette.

  ‘You know my predilections,’ he said, as if going under a false name was like donning sunglasses. ‘Nosy cow, aren’t you?’ He grabbed his ID card, gave her a sharp look. ‘You’re becoming a liability.’ The tip of his nose was going white, a sign she knew meant he was close to losing it. She froze, but she was determined to find out more.

  ‘But why Hans Grans?’ she said.

  Hans took out a cigarette and lit up. ‘I’m a “true crime” fan,’ he said exhaling slowly. ‘And they’re the local legends.’ Nothing was going to stop him enjoying the first nicotine hit of the day. ‘But ol’ Fritz was a bit crude – too ugly.’ His sharp eyes seemed to see right through her.

  Dorcas tried to look relaxed. ‘There was an article in the HAZ about Haarmann,’ she said, closing her laptop.

  Hans looked out of the terrace balcony and puffed away. Then, looking over his shoulder he said, ‘This pregnancy’s making you hysterical. He was executed in 1925.’ Hans made a chopping motion at his neck and laughed. ‘I think you’re safe!’

  Dorcas felt cold inside at the rebuke, but she laughed it off. Hans was standing there in his underwear, languidly smoking, but he was getting quiet. The less he said, the more nervous she felt. She’d tried, but now she had to save herself.

  ‘I’m going away for a few weeks,’ she said hesitantly turning to stand next to him. She casually put her arm around his shoulder. ‘There’s a rehab programme in the Harz mountains that starts tomorrow.’

  Hans smiled. ‘But you like smoking coke, Dorcas, it’s what makes you tick.’

  Dorcas shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s paid by the Krankenkasse.’ Instead of looking at him, she stared at the grand flats on the opposite side of the street. There were lilac trees in full bloom. When she spoke her voice was wistful, ‘I’ve got four weeks to make up my mind whether to have an abortion or not.’

  Hans just laughed and carried on smoking. ‘So it’s a toss-up between a kid or coke?’ In a high-pitched voice he quipped, ‘Isn’t it funny how once you become convicted you immediately become combustible.’

  Dorcas stared at him, her lips a thin line. These bloody quotes!

  Then his voice hardened. ‘Getting knocked up was never part of the equation. Stay away from the club for now.’ He walked back into the flat. Dorcas defiantly stared at him. He turned around and seemed to look through her. ‘I mean it! I don’t want you working in this state or upsetting the other girls.’

  His moody eyes flashed at her and Dorcas recoiled. There would be time for her to get her own back, but she knew better than to go against him when he was in a mood. And God, did he look mad. She heard the sound of furious movements as he gathered his things.

  She sat there like a mouse until she was sure he had left the flat. When she saw him getting into his car outside, she picked up her phone and called Elli: the one person left who could maybe find something out at the club. Better not tell her too much, though. It was getting too dangerous to tell anyone else her suspicions out loud.

  At midnight, Frannie was waiting in her bathroom, her phone clenched in her hand. Although she was only wearing short cotton maternity pyjamas, she was sweating.

  Dorcas called on the dot. Frannie was so nervous she could barely press the green button to answer. And Dorcas sounded even more agitated. Frannie could immediately tell something was up.

  ‘Has he gone?’ said Frannie, whispering to make sure Kurt couldn’t hear upstairs.

  ‘Yes. And I found out his real name – it’s Gunnar Liss,’ said Dorcas, getting straight to the point.

  Frannie gasped. ‘Did he say why?’ she said.

  ‘No. He’s, like, a “true crime” nut, and this duo are Hannover’s answer to Jack the Ripper. He thought Hans was cooler than Haarmann the butcher. And yes, it’s weird, but we can’t go to the police with that.’

  ‘So nothing’s changed?’ said Frannie, disappointment souring her voice. She noted that her bathroom urgently needed cleaning. The demands of the real world were constantly closing in on her.

  ‘Well, I called Elli – another working girl from the club – and she’s trying now to have a sneaky look in Hans’s office. But when I spoke to her she reminded me of something I forgot.’

  ‘What?’ said Frannie, interest animating her pale features.

  ‘Anna apparently sent an email to her, about something she saw on Hans’s laptop. But Elli never got it. Or thought she didn’t.’

  ‘You mean maybe it went to her spam filter or something?’

  ‘Could be. The thing is, I’ve told Hans I’m going on a rehab course…’

  ‘Rehab?’ interjected Frannie, forgetting to whisper. The more she found out about Dorcas, the scarier it all got.

  ‘Just for coke, nothing serious,’ laughed Dorcas.

  Frannie winced. ‘You take…cocaine?’ she said, falteringly.

  ‘Yes, Mum!’ said Dorcas laughing. ‘And Hans has told me in no uncertain terms to stay away from the club. He caught me looking at his ID card with the bloody stuff on Hans Grans on my laptop. So I can do nothing directly.’ Dorcas hesitated, then her voice hardened, ‘So it has to be you who meets Elli to try and retrieve this email.’

  Frannie spluttered, feeling felt sick to her stomach. ‘I can’t!’ she said. ‘My pregnancy’s not going well, Kurt’s threatened to leave me if I drive again—’

  Dorcas cut in savagely. ‘It could be me next!’ she said in a voice filled with unbearable tension. There was a crackling noise, as if she’d knocked something down. ‘Look, it’s just one drive. You don’t have to go in the club. Just go to the car park and phone me. I’ll tell Elli you’re there and she’ll come out to you. You can look at her laptop in the car.’ She hesitated, ‘Then come here and we can go to the police together and it will be over.’

  Frannie shuddered. Dorcas was out of her mind with worry and she’d put her in that position. With disbelief, she heard herself reluctantly agree. It was late, she was tired. There were a thousand reasons for not going. But she’d got Dorcas into this. Now she had to get her out of it again.

  She’d already laid out a full set of clothes in the bathroom. Although she’d told herself they were for tomorrow, subconsciously s
he’d known it would come to this. Before, she’d always been nervous about the actual driving, and then that Kurt would find out. But now – if Hans caught her at the club, something much, much worse could happen. She shuddered, tried to press that thought to the back of her mind.

  She dressed quickly and decided to disguise herself a little. She put on a silly hat with fake red hair sticking out and added shades. Even if she was only going to sit in the car, it was worth trying not to be so obvious. Her pregnancy bump was too pronounced to hide, but she had on a baggy top she hoped would cover everything up.

  Just before she left, her tense, hard stomach seemed to lurch, and she vomited into the sink. The sight of it made her want to retch again. This drive was going to be tougher now her blood pressure was elevated. She cleaned up and popped a mint into her mouth. Her face in the mirror was so drawn that she didn’t even bother to put make-up on.

  Kurt had forgotten to put the car into the garage so she only had to reverse it off the drive. Guiltily she closed the front door, but on this sultry night it felt wonderful to be out with the grass singing in the breeze. The keys in her hand felt like magic; after all the tension of waiting, getting into the car felt like actually doing something.

  Normally she night-drove later, after a solid stint of sleep, but tonight she’d been too nervous to attempt that. As soon as she got behind the wheel, she felt different. It must be tiredness; in her driving theory lessons she’d learnt that was as bad as being drunk. She tried to compensate by driving faster – after all, no one was about – but the car made a groaning noise as she shoved too quickly into the higher gears. After a brief struggle, the car went smoothly and she tried to concentrate.

  Even though the car had air-conditioning, she decided to open the roof so that the rush of air would help keep her awake. The invigorating blast was a distraction, though, and as she turned a corner she came upon a hedgehog scampering in the headlights. Before she could blink, there was a sickening thud. Her heart sank, but she just pushed her foot down further. With acid pooling in her mouth, she carefully forged her way along the minor roads to the B6.

  It was just after twelve, so there was still some late traffic going to and fro from the city but luck was with her tonight. Most of the traffic lights hit green as she approached them and none of the other cars bothered her as she trundled along in the slow lane. She was already panicking about parking in the nightclub car park, which would probably be full.

  All this detective work was pushing her out of her comfort zone. She resolved to drive around the car park slowly, and then to assess the situation. If all else failed, she could ask someone to park for her.

  She’d started off the journey in a buoyant mood, pleased to be chasing a real clue, but halfway through her energy levels slumped. It was as if she was in a dream, imagining the drive rather than sitting there doing it. She drove right up to the sign for the Autobahn without registering until the last second that she had to turn right. Shit. She squealed into the lane without indicating, her whole body flushed with sweat. She swallowed uneasily. The fuel in the car was low; if she got stuck on the Autobahn, she wasn’t sure she could actually tank up herself at a petrol station. And was it diesel or petrol that the car needed? She didn’t even know which direction Osterwald was on the motorway. There were so many things she had to learn before she could drive without thinking about it.

  It was a relief when the neon-lit signs for the Moonlights Club came up. Slowly, she turned into the car park. It was busy, but evidently many customers would come later, and she spied two spaces together that she decided to nab. It was upfront, near the entrance and she could reverse in, so that she would then be able to drive forward if she needed to get out quickly. She straddled the middle of the two spaces; it was the best she could do. Anyway, she didn’t plan on staying long.

  Now she was here it didn’t feel real. She was no computer expert, but she’d worked for five years as a PA to a magazine publisher and was used to troubleshooting the Xerox machine. Being physically outside the club, though, was scary. Last time she’d walked right in there like a sitting duck. The thought of Lars and Hans sitting somewhere behind those walls chilled her to the bone. It was hard to resist the temptation to just scarper.

  With trembling fingers she dialled Dorcas’s number.

  Dorcas tried to play it cool, but the hoarseness in her voice betrayed her anxiety, ‘Don’t tell Elli anything when you see her,’ she said roughly.

  ‘Why?’ said Frannie. Wasn’t this Elli on their side?

  ‘Because it’s safer for her not to know. We have to think about everybody we involve in this.’

  Frannie winced and sat and waited. Dorcas assured her that Elli would be out in five minutes with her emails already loaded on her laptop. She only had to check through the spam filter from about a month before. Come on! she thought to herself, chewing on a piece of gum, trying not to let her stomach tie itself in knots. She’d reached that part of the pregnancy where it was uncomfortable to sit upright for too long. Just breathing was exhausting.

  She wound down the windows. There was a long queue of kids all dolled up waiting to get in the club. There was a lot of shouting, but Frannie’s eyes never left the front entrance. Every second being here was torture. As usual her bladder had started aching. She tapped her feet impatiently. ‘Come on,’ she said out loud.

  Something told her she should just get the hell out of there, but she’d promised Dorcas, so she’d have to hold out.

  Only seconds after she’d spoken to Frannie, her phone rang again. Dorcas groaned. She felt so guilty that she’d sent Frannie in there instead of doing it herself, and the slightest disturbance made her jump. She was itching with nerves. What she really needed was a goddamn line to straighten her out. That was the problem with falling out with your boyfriend and best mate all at the same time: she’d cut off her supply chain. If she left it too long she’d be too desperate to get a good deal with a street dealer. When the girls were humming with need they clocked it in seconds. And then they put the price up.

  ‘Hello?’ said Dorcas, suspiciously.

  ‘Is that…Dorcas?’ said a male voice she didn’t recognise. ‘I found your card in my wife’s things.’ He spoke in the grammatically correct German of the Hannover region, but stumbled over his words.

  ‘I am she,’ said Dorcas archly. Perhaps it was one of her old clients.

  ‘My wife is missing,’ continued the voice, ‘and I found your… details…’ He stopped, as if he’d run out of words.

  Dorcas gave a horrified snort. That must be the husband! Scheisse! Frannie had said if he found her out driving again he’d end the relationship. Trust a bloody man to give out ultimatums. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about.

  ‘Frannie’s meeting someone for me,’ she said, desperately trying to placate him, anything to make him go away.

  ‘A client?’ said Kurt fiercely. ‘I mean…you are…?’ He couldn’t even say the word out loud. This one was no diplomat for sure.

  Dorcas swept her eyes around her immaculate room and gave one of her low little laughs. ‘Nothing like that,’ she said, ‘She’s doing me a favour, helping me check a friend’s laptop.’ Her voice was light and high, as if it was the littlest thing.

  ‘That is not possible!’ shouted Kurt. ‘My wife, out in the middle of the night!’ Dorcas grinned. She’d seen his photo on Frannie’s mantelpiece. His type she could read like a book. All verbal tetchiness and then they fudged on the job. The moodiness was compensation for passions that should have been directed elsewhere. She grinned. He needed professional help. When his sort had good sex it made them feel like real people again.

  ‘Look – Kurt, isn’t it?’ she said, deciding to take the matter in hand. Frannie should have the email soon anyway, then they could go to the police together. Maybe this Kurt guy could help translate.

  ‘Yes?’ He seemed surprised that she knew his name.

  ‘I’m expecting Frannie here in aro
und half an hour. Perhaps you should come over; she might need you.’

  ‘Need me for what?’ said Kurt, deeply confused.

  ‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ said Dorcas, giving out her address languidly as if it was an invitation to an exclusive party.

  ‘I’m going to have to take my old motorbike,’ said Kurt, making it sound as if he was going to have to walk the whole distance by foot. ‘Since my wife has run off with my car again…’

  She knew it was her as soon as she came out of the club. Elli was tall, with honey-blonde hair that fell in voluminous waves to her shoulders. If a professional had spent an hour with her hands on it, it couldn’t have looked better. But when she moved she looked like a dead woman walking, and up close the eyes were vacant.

  Her face was still pretty, but the skin looked odd, as if it were too stretched, making it impossible to tell how old she was. Although her youth was all there, she had a look about her that made her seem off, as if she was ill or had a spectacular hangover. Dorcas had told her she’d been hitting the meth.

  Frannie tried not to let her concern show in her eyes.

  ‘Are you Dani?’ said Elli as she approached the open car window.

  Frannie nodded. Dorcas had insisted on a pseudonym. She was being frighteningly efficient about keeping her distance.

  When Elli got into the passenger seat, her skirt was so short she inadvertently flashed her knickers, but she handed over her MacBook as promised. The screen showed her inbox. She had the same type of email account as Frannie, which made it easier for her to log into. Frannie frowned, tried to concentrate, she had to get this over with. If Kurt found out she was gone, she was done for.

  ‘Every day I get one message about spam, but I can never get to it,’ said Elli. She spoke in a nasal whine, as if something was up her nose. A peculiar sweet smell came off her in waves that made Frannie feel nauseous. She reeked of vodka and vomit with a bit of talcum powder thrown in for good measure.