Sisters of Berlin

by Juliet Conlin

*

  September, 2015

  Marie placed the bunch of flowers on the table in the corner. They looked like they’d been plucked from someone’s front garden, but it was the thought that counted.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked Nina.

  ‘Woozy. Sore. Glad it’s over.’

  ‘You poor thing. Here, d’you mind if I –?’ Marie gestured towards the bed.

  Nina eased to the side a little, carefully, to make some room. The local anaesthetic around the stitches hadn’t worn off yet, but in a couple of hours, the pain would be red raw. Two floors down, in the ob-gyn department of this same hospital, she’d collapsed with a burst appendix earlier that afternoon. Her proximity to the operating theatre had saved her life.

  Marie lay down gently beside her. She smiled. ‘You look knackered,’ she said, reaching out to smooth Nina’s hair from her face.

  ‘Thanks. It’s my best post-op styling.’

  ‘You look beautiful, too.’ Her face was now so close Nina could feel her warm breath on her cheek. It smelled cinnamony. She felt a dull throbbing in her lower belly. Maybe she should ask the nurse to bring her some pain medication as a precaution, in case it got bad during the night.

  ‘What’s wrong, Nina? Are you in pain? Should I get a doctor or something?’

  Nina shook her head, nodded, took in a gulp of air. ‘I’m tired,’ she said.

  The door opened with a squeak and Sebastian came in, carrying a briefcase clamped under his arm and a coffee cup in his other hand. Strands of his hair stood up rakishly, and his t-shirt had circular sweat stains beneath his armpits. He looked drained.

  His smile turned into a frown. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ he asked, sharply.

  Nina swallowed. Her mouth was dry and numb. ‘What?’

  He gestured with his chin towards Marie. ‘That’s a single bed. Nina, you can’t possibly be comfortable like that.’

  ‘I did ask if it was okay, Sebastian,’ Marie said. The way she said his name – it couldn’t have sounded more petulant if she’d tried. Nina wished they’d get along, or at least pretend to, if only for an hour or two. She turned towards Marie. A tiny shake of her head said, Be nice. Marie gave a small apologetic smile.

  ‘It’s fine, Basti,’ Nina said. ‘There’s plenty of room.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he muttered in response and put down his briefcase.

  ‘How are Kai and Bekka?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re at your parents’. They’re fine, they were . . . upset and worried. But they’re asleep now. It was shock for all of us.’

  Nina felt an ache in her throat. ‘Will they be staying there? Until I get home?’

  Sebastian frowned. ‘Well, I’ve got to be in court tomorrow, and I have some meetings lined up that would be hell to reschedule, so . . .’

  ‘I’ll help out,’ Marie said brightly and sat up. The movement caused the throbbing in Nina’s abdomen to turn into a sharp needling pain.

  Sebastian shook his head ‘No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary, you –’

  ‘But it’s no problem, really. I can pick them up from school and kindergarten, make their tea, play with them, whatever. Nina?’

  Nina shrugged. ‘Fine with me,’ she said breathily. The anaesthetic was wearing off, fast. ‘Basti? Let her help out, okay? It’ll make the kids happy, and I’ll be out of here in no time.’

  Sebastian let out a long breath. ‘Fine.’ He walked to the other side of the bed and kissed her on the forehead. ‘But get well soon. We all need you at home.’

  11

  Shortly after five that afternoon, Anita comes in.

  ‘Frau Müller was the last for today,’ she says. ‘I’ve left the forms for you to sign on the front desk. I’ll be off then.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Anita,’ Nina says. Then she adds, ‘By the way, did Frau Thiel make another appointment?’

  Anita shakes her head. ‘No.’ She has short hair that undergoes a monthly colour cycle: blue, pink, blonde. This month, her hair is bright red, although Nina can see the natural chestnut growing back at the roots. Nina senses the disapproval of some of her more conservative patients, but she likes it. It’s fresh and playful. Anita has been with her since she opened the practice and hasn’t taken a single sick day. Nina knows how lucky she is to have her.

  ‘Right,’ she says, making a mental note to get Anita something special – a wellness gift card, perhaps – to go with her Christmas bonus. ‘So, before you go, could you get her home phone number – or mobile number, if you have one – and write it down for me?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll pop it on the desk. Well, bye, then.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, Anita.’

  Nina tidies her desk, then puts on her coat and scarf. On her way out, she signs the forms Anita has left out and picks up the piece of paper with Jessica Thiel’s number, stuffing it into her handbag. It’s half past five, and she has agreed to meet Franzen at six. Traffic is unusually light, and she’s ten minutes early as she turns into the street that leads to the police station on Keithstraße. It’s lined with a mix of residential and commercial buildings in a mismatch of architectural styles – grey, unimaginative buildings containing open-plan offices, and grand high-ceilinged flats in nineteenth-century tenements – lending the street an awkward, shabby feel.

  Nina is familiar with the area – it’s close to the hospital she used to work at – and she knows that the only available parking spaces at this time of day are to be found behind the Turkish cash & carry on the corner. She pulls onto the gravelled lot, negotiating the deep potholes, and has to wait, engine idling, while a couple of men finish loading a van with drums of cooking oil. Her stomach growls and squelches. The children have asked to have schnitzel for supper, and Nina’s planning not to batter hers and to steer clear of the mayonnaise dressing the others insist on drowning their salads in. That way, she should be fine.

  When she arrives at the imposing grey police station, she ignores the lift and takes the stairs to Franzen’s office on the fourth floor. Eighty in total. The door is wide open and he spots her straight away.

  ‘Dr Bergmann,’ he says, holding his hand out for Nina to shake. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  She takes his hand, noticing how clammy hers feels against his warm, smooth skin. Maslowski isn’t in, she is pleased to note.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ he says. ‘I’ll take your coat, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. The effort of climbing the stairs has left her breathing shallow.

  She takes a seat opposite and waits for him to speak. Spread out on the desk in front of him are photocopies of bank account statements and what looks like a telephone bill.

  ‘Kommissar Maslowski has already spoken to your father,’ he says.

  ‘I know. He mentioned Marie’s bank account.’

  ‘Oh.’ His eyes widen. ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘I don’t know why that should surprise you,’ she says. ‘He is my father, after all.’ She waits a moment, but when he doesn’t speak, she adds: ‘Is this going to take long? It’s just … my children are waiting for me at home.’ She crosses her legs. The right leg crosses comfortably over the left. She must have lost weight on her thighs, a thought at which her irritation subsides somewhat.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Franzen says. ‘Yes. The money. Fifteen thousand isn’t a huge amount, but your sister was claiming unemployment benefits, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she didn’t get it from your parents,’ he continues.

  ‘And not from me, either.’

  ‘Which means,’ he says, ‘it’s something we ought to follow up. Do you know where Marie might have got the money from?’

  ‘No,’ Nina says. ‘I’d have thought it says on the bank statements where it was transferred from.’

  ‘That’s a good thought,’ he says, and she can’t tell from his expression if he’s being sarcastic. ‘Yes, we checked that, but Marie paid the money in herself, in cash. On the –�
�, he looks down at the statements in front of him, ‘on the fifteenth of August.’

  ‘In one lump sum?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Nina shrugs. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you. Marie – well, she never had much money, so I helped her out every now and then. But fifteen thousand . . .’ She trails off.

  Franzen is staring out of the window, as if entirely untroubled and unhurried.

  ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ she asks, irritable again. Why couldn’t they have done this on the phone?

  ‘Yes, in fact there is. It’s why I needed you to come in,’ he says, again giving her the strange feeling that he can read her thoughts.

  He picks up the telephone bill. About twenty calls are listed, and one has been marked with a yellow highlighter. But instead of showing it to her, he lays it to the side and picks up a photograph. ‘Do you know a Jakob Fraunhofer?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’d like you to take a look at this and tell me if you recognise anyone.’ He places the photo in front of her. She picks it up and feels him watching her, gauging her reaction. The corners of the photograph have curled slightly, and it shows a group of people holding up glasses towards the camera in a toast. The picture was taken in a bar, or a pub. It is underexposed, dark and grainy, but there in the centre of the group is Marie, eyes bright and her mouth wide open in a grin. The context is unfamiliar, but Nina’s heart thumps to see her sister so radiant, so alive. And it hits her now why a violent death, unlike a death by illness or old age, can have such an aftermath: the brutal knowledge that anyone, at any time, can be ripped out of life.

  ‘What is this?’ she asks.

  ‘Marie’s writing group. I wonder if you recognise anyone,’ he says, adding unnecessarily, ‘apart from your sister.’

  The other members of the group are all men, all around Marie’s age. Nina has never seen any of them before. ‘No,’ she says.

  ‘She’s the only woman in the group,’ he says. ‘Which is unusual, for a writing group. Or so I’ve heard.’

  ‘My sister was unusual.’

  He holds his hand out and she passes him the picture. ‘We’ve contacted them all, except for this individual here.’ He points at a man with glasses and a slender face. The only one not looking into the camera, but at Marie. ‘Jakob Fraunhofer,’ he says. ‘He’s out of the country at the moment, at a conference, so we haven’t been able to speak to him.’

  Nina swallows. ‘It might be a lead?’

  Franzen nods. ‘Yes, it might be.’ He doesn’t offer any more information.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘No. Not at the moment.’

  He gets to his feet and unhooks her coat from the stand behind the door. He offers to help her into it, but she takes it and puts it on herself.

  ‘We’re doing our best,’ he says. ‘And I’m sorry if it seems as though this is taking forever, but –’ He sighs. ‘Unpicking someone’s life like this, forensically. It requires patience.’

  Nina doesn’t reply. Instead, she asks, ‘When will we get Marie’s stuff?’

  ‘Everything that isn’t relevant to the investigation has been replaced,’ he replies. ‘And we’ve removed the seal to her flat. So you and your parents are free to enter. But I’m afraid –’ He pauses.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The flat hasn’t been cleaned,’ he says quietly. ‘I would recommend you send in a cleaner before you go in. It can be . . . traumatic. There are special cleaning services for these types of situations. But Kommissar Maslowski has already informed your father of this.’ He sighs heavily. ‘I’m sorry.’

  *

  When Nina gets home, there are no lights on downstairs. She can hear Kai laughing, and, after hanging up her coat and removing her shoes, she climbs the stairs quietly. Rebekka’s bedroom is the first on the left. Nina knocks on the door softly and enters. Bekka is sitting at her desk, a circle of light illuminating what appears to be homework. She looks up, her forehead creased in a frown.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Nina asks.

  ‘Yeah.’ Bekka glances down at her books and shrugs.

  ‘You busy with homework?’ She steps closer, her hip grazing Bekka’s shoulder.

  ‘Kind of. It’s a history assignment. For the end of term.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  Bekka shrugs again. ‘Collective amnesia in recent German history, you know, when people told themselves they never knew about the Nazi concentration camps, or that all East Germans were victims of the system, that the helpers and the spies were always the others.’

  ‘Sounds fascinating.’

  ‘I guess. We’re supposed to find instances in books and films and newspaper articles. I’ve been working on this for ages.’

  ‘Well, if you need any help . . .’

  ‘Yeah, okay, thanks,’ Rebekka says and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It’s kind of intense.’ She’s quiet for a moment before adding, in a small, tight voice, ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Auntie Marie was going to help me with the assignment.’

  ‘Marie?’ she asks, genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t know she’d been talking to you about your schoolwork.’

  ‘Yes. She said she’s got lots of – what did she call it – source material on the topic, and . . .’ She bites down on her lip, hard, but then starts to cry.

  Nina swoops down and puts her arm around her. ‘Oh, Bekka, it’s okay. It’s okay to cry.’ She holds her tight, knowing these moments were always bound to come but wishing all the same that she protect her daughter from the pain of grief. ‘Do you want to talk?’

  Rebekka sniffs and shakes her head. ‘No, I . . . I mean, I’m okay. I just –’

  ‘I know, my love, I know.’ Nina keeps her arm around her daughter, feels her warmth and softness. Her hair smells of the strawberry shampoo she’s used since she was little. Children, even fourteen-year-olds, can be surprisingly resilient or frighteningly fragile; you just never know until they’re put to the test. For a fleeting moment, Nina is full of rage with Marie for meeting such a violent, shocking death. She takes a shaky breath, squeezes her daughter a little too hard.

  ‘We’ll get through this, sweetie. I promise. I’m here. And if there’s anything I can do, you just tell me, promise?’

  Rebekka nods her head and lets out a soft puff of air. She smiles shyly. ‘Actually, Mama, I’m a bit hungry.’

  Nina gives her a kiss on the cheek. ‘We’re having schnitzel for dinner. In about half an hour.’

  Nina closes the door and walks towards Kai’s bedroom at the end of the hall. The door is slightly ajar, and from where she’s standing, she can see Sebastian and Kai sitting on the floor, putting together Kai’s train set. They haven’t noticed her, so she stops and watches silently. Kai is facing in her direction, and if he looked up, he would see her. But he’s concentrating hard on his father’s instructions, eyebrows pulled together in a wrinkle-less frown and his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

  Kai’s hair is darkening, she notices, as Sebastian places his head right next to his son’s in order to show him how to fix one piece of track onto another. She thinks, indulgently, how he’ll probably have the same hair colour as Sebastian when he’s older – but then her mind is involuntarily jerked back to an embrace in a Zurich hotel room seven years ago. An embrace with a kind, beautiful man whose name she has long since buried, the taste of cheese rösti and Klosterbräu from the conference centre dinner still in her mouth – and his – to a joyful, coordinated dance of limbs and pelvises. And the next day’s feeling of bewilderment that she should feel so exhilarated rather than ashamed at her escape into physical abandonment, as she stood looking out of the hotel window onto the pretty, snow-covered roofs of the city’s buildings. The bewilderment and bliss that morphed into numb panic three months later, in a grubby toilet cubicle at a café on her way to work, when the pregnancy test she held in a trembling hand revealed two fain
t strips where – in a perfect world – there should have been only one.

  Kai snaps a track into place and Sebastian leans across and places a big, fond kiss on his cheek. But it shouldn’t matter, she tells herself, fighting down the guilt that now catches and burns in her throat. Kai is the sweetest, kindest boy she could imagine – what does it matter how he came into existence?

  Kai looks up and grins. ‘Mama, look!’ he says, pointing proudly at his newly constructed railway line. She gives him a proper smile.

  Sebastian turns around. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll tell you later,’ Nina says. ‘I’d better get supper on. I promised the kids schnitzel.’

  ‘Yeah! Schnitzel!’ Kai shouts and starts running around in a circle, joyful arms flung out to either side.

  ‘Let’s get this cleaned up first, Tarzan.’ Sebastian smiles up at him, and Nina leaves them to tidy up while she goes downstairs.

  Later, Sebastian slips his T-shirt over his head and climbs into bed.

  ‘Bekka was a sweetheart tonight,’ he says. ‘I can’t remember the last time she cleared the table without an argument. And without being asked.’

  Nina smiles in the dark beside him. They had a lovely family evening; she even managed to persuade the kids to play a game of Scrabble. Nina was set to win, but ultimately let Sebastian pip her to the post right at the end. He’s an epically sore loser, and she didn’t want something as silly as a triple word score to sour the mood.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘When Bekka’s like that, you almost forget how insufferable she can be sometimes.’

  ‘Hormones,’ he replies. ‘By the way, Sara rang while you were out.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, she’s been trying to get in touch about brunch, but –’

  ‘But you’re not up to it yet.’

  She gives her head a little shake.

  Sebastian turns and props himself up on one elbow. She can smell his toothpaste. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he says. ‘You’d think she’d understand that you need a bit of space right now. But I’m not surprised, to be honest. I’ve always found Sara a bit . . .’