24
Ten minutes after Franzen departs, Nina steps out onto the pavement. The sky is still low and grey, the wind blows in occasional icy gusts, sending swirls of yellowed leaves across her path. She walks with no particular destination in mind, head down against the wind, a hand clutching the collar of her coat shut. Past a primary school, grand four-storey apartment buildings, one or two old villas tucked in and set back from the street. She walks hard. Needs to clear her head. Needs to get her life back under control.
The wind picks up, stinging her cheeks, and a couple of raindrops fall from the sky. Apart from an occasional car sweeping past, she’s alone. Most people wouldn’t go out in this weather if they had a choice. The rain picks up, too; soon Nina’s hair and face are drenched. But she doesn’t turn back. Instead, she crosses the road, and finds herself passing through a hedgerow. She stops abruptly when she realises where she is. The local cemetery. She shivers; her subconscious is so predictable, it’s almost comical. She turns to leave, but is hit by dizziness and for a moment loses her bearings. Placing her red-cold hands on her thighs, she bends forward and breathes in deeply. Slowly, the giddiness subsides.
A black car drives past, slowing to the speed limit in the proximity of the primary school. Nina starts walking again, leaning into the rain, careful not to slip on the slick cobblestones. Her mind is fogging over, so she picks up her pace to clear it. She forces her thoughts into focus, tries to push past the grainy image of that video, the bared teeth of Lehmholz, his coarse, grinding voice – and her sister, so female, in the midst of all that ugliness, her lips parted, forehead creased. The video was taken four months ago, Franzen said. It’s an effort to calculate the timeline, the cold wind is making her skull ache. July. Marie was at that meeting in July. But why didn’t she mention it to Nina? This was a big deal, something so out of the ordinary – surely she would have mentioned to her sister that she’d attended a neo-Nazi meeting. It is incredible to even consider such a thing. They spoke about everything. Everything, except –
Nina comes to an abrupt stop, almost laughs out loud. It must have been research for Marie’s writing. Of course! It’s been staring her in the face the whole time. She found research on the Stasi amid Marie’s papers, and now, here’s research on neo-Nazis – it makes perfect sense. Six months ago, Marie had joked about what her online search history would look like to someone who didn’t know her: what it feels like to drown, nineteenth-century prostitution laws, how to infiltrate global corporations, the psychological profile of cult leaders . . .
Nina’s nose is running. She fumbles in her pocket for a tissue, her hands numb with cold. She needs to call Franzen, to explain everything. She’ll call him tonight, when she’s had a chance to rest her mind, so she can be sure to articulate it all properly. She turns a corner and sees a black car on the street ahead of her, idling in a no-parking zone, its red brake lights luminous through the rain. It’s the same car that just drove past, she’s almost certain. She stops and waits to see if it will drive off again, but it doesn’t. Thiel has a car. Panicked, she turns and heads back; it’s a ten-minute walk to her office from here. Behind her, she hears the engine growing louder and the sound of tyres on the wet road as the car makes a U-turn. Her breath catches in her throat as she hurries on, letting out a small gasp of relief as she spots a newsagent on the far corner.
But the car is crawling closer, a quick glance back puts it at less than twenty metres behind her. If she starts running, she might make it to the newsagent before the car catches up with her. She plunges forward, blood pounding in her ears, the horizontal rain blinding her. The car draws level – she hears the splash of the tyres beside her – and she loses her footing, falling hard onto her right knee. Pain flashes through her body.
‘Nina?’
The voice is vaguely familiar, but she can’t place it.
‘Nina Bergmann? It’s Bernhard. Are you all right?’
A moment later, she’s being lifted from the ground.
‘That looked painful,’ Bernhard says, placing his arm around her waist to help her up. ‘And you are soaked through.’
Her breath is unsteady as she lets him guide her to his car. But when he opens the passenger door, she hesitates. ‘I’ll get the seat wet,’ she says.
He frowns. ‘Never mind that, but we have to get you warmed up.’ He looks around. ‘There’s a café over there.’ He points across the street.
‘It’s okay, really,’ Nina says, aware that her teeth are chattering. She bends and flexes her right leg and winces.
‘I insist,’ he says. ‘Then when you’ve dried out a bit, I’ll give you a lift.’
She leans on him as they cross the road. The café – which turns out to be a tea house – is set back from the street by a quaint courtyard with an ancient chestnut tree set in the centre. Inside, Bernhard helps her to a chair. Small table lamps are lit, giving the place a cosy autumnal feel. The air is filled with a warm, aromatic tea smell.
‘Do you need ice for that?’ Bernhard asks, nodding towards Nina’s knee.
‘No, it’ll be fine. I just grazed it.’ She puts a hand to her knee; it’s hot and throbbing beneath the damp fabric. She’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow.
The waitress comes over and they order. Earl Grey and a scone for Bernhard, Oolong for Nina.
‘I was heading back from a meeting in Dahlem and thought I spotted you on Laubacher Straße,’ he says when the waitress has left. ‘And you looked a little forlorn in the rain, so I pulled over to wait and offer you a lift.’
‘My practice is two streets across. I was out for a walk and got caught without an umbrella.’ Nina attempts a smile but still feels utterly shaken.
‘This is a nice area,’ Bernhard says, casting a glance towards the street outside.
‘Yes. It was my husband’s idea that I set up here.’
He raises his eyebrows. They’re silver-grey and well-trimmed. ‘You don’t like the neighbourhood?’
‘I do, but –’ She stops. She doesn’t want to start discussing the horrendous rents. ‘I do like it.’
They lapse into silence as they wait for the tea. Apart from an elderly woman at a table by the window, the place is empty. Nina looks out of the window. The rain has paused, yielding to a grey November mist that has curled up and around the chestnut tree outside. She shivers, glad to be indoors. She turns back as the waitress places the tea on the table, and notices Bernhard watching her intently.
‘You look nothing like her,’ he says. ‘Marie.’
It catches her off-guard. Then she remembers. ‘Of course, you met her, didn’t you?’
‘Briefly,’ he replies. ‘But I remember thinking, when I first saw you, how striking the difference was. Dark and fair. Like that fairy tale, Snow White and Rose Red? Snow White, the blonde girl, is quiet and shy and loves reading, and her sister Rose Red, the brunette, is outspoken and cheerful. Then . . . blah blah blah . . . evil dwarf . . . bear, and they live happily ever after.’ He chuckles. ‘I used to read it to Sophie all the time. All the Grimm stories. She loved them, especially the gruesome ones.’
He smiles as he raises his teacup to his lips, but it is a private smile. A sad smile. Nina knows the fairy tale. She used to read it to Marie, who also loved it, and then to Rebekka and Kai. She wonders vaguely how old Bernhard’s daughter would be now if she’d lived. Probably only a few years younger than herself.
‘I was thinking of calling you a little while back,’ she admits. ‘I got frustrated.’ Her voice is low. ‘With the police investigation.’
He doesn’t speak.
‘But then they called to say they have a suspect,’ she continues. Yes, she should focus on Fraunhofer. Forget about the video. ‘So I’m glad I didn’t have to bother you, after all.’
‘It wouldn’t have been a bother.’
Nina sips her tea. It has a pleasant fragrance, though it tastes somewhat bitter. She picks up a stick with sugar crystals from the holder on the table. The crys
tals are the colour of amber. ‘I know,’ she says, putting the stick back. Her mother’s reproach about Bernhard being a busy man comes to mind.
‘But – that’s good news, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘About the suspect.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Marie’s face on the video – alert, curious, sceptical. Always becoming, never just being. Nina needs to call Franzen, stop him from letting the investigation going off on some meaningless tangent. Marie wasn’t one of them, Nina is sure of it. Her sister was too honest, too joyful to believe in the paranoid doctrines of those men. She brushes back a wet strand of hair that has fallen across her face. Her forehead feels hot. She might be running a fever.
‘So, have they made an arrest?’ Bernhard asks.
‘Um, no. I – I don’t think so. He’s “helping with enquiries”, they said. But he doesn’t have an alibi, and it seems he was stalking Marie, although he denies attacking her.’
‘Well, I hope they have their man. For your sake. And your family’s. I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what Gloria and I went through after Sophie was killed.’
He sounds angry, resentful, but something in his voice snags and Nina realises he’s close to tears.
‘Oh my goodness, I’ve upset you. I’m so sorry, Bernhard, that was thoughtless of me.’
He shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says and clears his throat. ‘You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.’
A long silence follows. Nina warms her hands on her cup, knowing she should probably finish her tea and take her leave. But it feels so good to just sit here, with someone who understands what she’s feeling, someone who doesn’t need to be told about the howling, gut-wrenching pain that feeds off itself, swelling and twisting into shapes grotesque and untameable, something that breaks you so profoundly you will never be the same again.
She picks up her cup, then places it quickly back onto the saucer. ‘I thought we were so close,’ she bursts out. ‘I thought we knew everything about each other. But now – it seems as though I knew nothing about her.’
The woman sitting by the window coughs a little too loudly. Nina shudders and wraps her arms around herself. ‘It sounds stupid, but I feel . . . betrayed somehow.’
Bernhard leans in closer. ‘I’m sorry, Nina. I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘I went to Marie’s flat on Wednesday to clear it out,’ she tells him. ‘She had things, old stuff from uni, drawings . . . things I never knew about.’ She feels something surging up inside, fluttering in her throat, eager to get out. ‘And the police think she might have been involved with neo-Nazis, and that’s just ridiculous! Because there’s no way she would’ve . . . it just isn’t . . .’
Bernhard’s eyes open a fraction wider, but he doesn’t speak.
Nina continues, the words spilling out of her now: ‘And then there’s this woman, her neighbour, she told me things. About Marie. But the other day –’ She looks up at Bernhard, knowing she’s making little sense. She expects him to make some excuse to leave.
But instead he says, ‘Carry on. Please.’ And when she doesn’t speak, he continues, ‘Nina. I don’t know anything, so I can’t judge anything. Talk. Let it out.’
‘I thought she might know who did this to Marie. But it turns out . . .’ She waves a hand across her face. ‘She’s very old. Confused. But that’s not what it was. She . . . she made me realise that there were things about my sister I hardly knew. As if Marie chose to show me only a very specific part of herself. Like she was acting out a role for me. And now it’s too late for me to find out who she really was.’ These last words leave her mouth in a whisper.
‘But we all have different roles, don’t we?’ Bernhard says. His voice is soft but resonant, originating somewhere deep inside him. ‘You, Nina, play the role of mother, daughter, wife. And the Nina your parents know is different, surely, than the Nina your husband knows. The Nina your patients know. The Nina your sister knew. Yet there’s nothing dishonest about that, is there?’ He reaches out his hand as though to place it on hers, but seems to change his mind. He picks up his teacup instead. ‘And if I may offer you some advice – think of it as fatherly advice – remember the Marie you knew. Trying to fill in gaps after the fact, gaps you never realised existed, might only distort your otherwise positive memories of her.’ He stops abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, I hope you don’t think I’ve overstepped a line.’
‘No,’ Nina says. A bubble of hysteria rises up, but she suppresses it in time. These erratic mood swings, they’re exhausting. She lets out a shaky breath. ‘No, in fact, I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear.’
Bernhard stares into his cup. ‘Sophie’s death took a real toll on our marriage. I would get hopelessly morose every year on the anniversary of her death – even worse on her birthdays, wondering what she would be like at twelve, sixteen, twenty-one years of age. What would her job be, would she have married young, or perhaps waited? When would she have given us grandchildren? Or perhaps none at all?’ He blinks rapidly. ‘It got too much for Gloria. She said I wasn’t letting it heal, like picking at a scab until it becomes inflamed and septic. She told me that we should take comfort in the joy Sophie gave us when she was alive.’ He looks straight at Nina. ‘And she was right. Anything else is self-destructive.’
Nina feels herself blushing. She’s oddly ashamed at her own drama. She can’t even imagine how people continue to live after losing a child.
Bernhard looks at his watch and then back at Nina. ‘I’m glad we bumped into each other,’ he says with an affectionate smile. ‘But I’m afraid I’ll have to be off. I have a tight schedule today.’
She nods. ‘Yes. I’d better get back myself.’ They get up, and after a polite back-and-forth, she agrees to let him pay for her tea.
‘I presume I’ll be seeing you on Saturday?’ he says when he comes back from the counter.
‘Saturday?’
‘The dinner party. At your parents’. For the celebrations.’
Why does this keep slipping her mind? ‘Yes, of course, the dinner party. You’ll be there?’
‘We will indeed. Gloria and I.’
He helps her into her coat. She catches a hint of his cologne, and has to resist the temptation to turn and bury her face in his chest.
*
In the afternoon, Anita informs Nina of one more cancellation. However, there is a walk-in patient, making a total number of four women she sees that afternoon. At ten past three, almost two hours before she would normally close the surgery, she decides it isn’t worth sitting around waiting for more walk-ins, and tells Anita that she’s welcome to go home.
‘And have a nice weekend,’ she adds. ‘Any plans?’
Anita shrugs. ‘Nothing special. We’ll probably come into town for the festival at the Brandenburg Gate. My wife wants to go, anyway. To be honest, I’ll be glad when it’s all over.’
‘I know how you feel,’ Nina says, although she means something different. ‘Have fun, whatever you decide to do.’
‘Thanks. You too.’ Anita looks at her, hesitates, but then says, ‘I’m sure things will get better. More patients, I mean.’
Nina attempts a smile. ‘I’m sure they will.’ She doesn’t mention that she’ll be paying Anita’s wages out of her savings next month.
They lock up together. Outside, the air is sharp. Anita heads left towards the U-Bahn, and Nina tries to remember where she parked the car this morning. Standing alone on the pavement, she glances around to make sure no one is lying in wait for her. Satisfied that she’s alone, she starts to head off down the street before her mobile rings loudly, making her jump. She answers quickly.
‘Dr Bergmann? It’s Kommissar Franzen. I’m just checking in to make sure everything’s all right.’
‘Herr Franzen. Yes, everything’s fine. I’m –’ A flock of pigeons on the square in front of her takes noisy flight and her heart plunges. Then a dog, followed by its owner, turns the corner. The dog chases the pigeons in a delighted f
renzy. ‘I’ve just locked up. I’m on my way home.’
‘About earlier,’ he says, ‘I realise it might have been upsetting for you. But in my experience, it’s best to put everything out there, see where it takes us.’
‘I understand.’ Should she tell him her thoughts about the video now? About how Marie can only have been present at those meetings for her research? She holds her breath, releases it in cloud of white mist. Her right eyelid flickers. She’s so tired. She’ll call him tonight, or tomorrow. So instead, she asks, ‘Is there any news on Fraunhofer?’
‘Afraid not. The public prosecutor wants a psychiatric report on him before she presses charges. I’m afraid nothing’s going to happen until after the weekend. But I also wanted to assure you that finding Thiel is still very much a priority. If my colleagues manage to track down his wife Jessica, we’re sure to find him. Until then . . . please just stay safe.’
At the sound of Jessica’s name, Nina’s heart flip-flops. She takes a step back and leans heavily against the building.
‘Dr Bergmann? Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ she manages to whisper. The thoughts tumble in her brain. ‘Herr Franzen,’ she’s finally able to say, ‘can I call you back in a couple of minutes?’
‘Of course, I –’
But she cancels the call before he can finish.
She fumbles the keys with freezing fingers and it takes an age to unlock the office door. Then another age checking through the filing cabinet. But then – then she finds it. Jessica Thiel’s file. Her hands tremble as she flicks through the pages, looking for the patient information form. Her mind is a mess, she can feel her brain trying to absorb and shape something. Something significant. She scans the form to anchor her thoughts. She finds the anchor at the bottom of the second page.
“Please indicate whether the practice has been recommended to you, and if so, by whom.”
And in Jessica Thiel’s rounded, girlish handwriting, the words: Dora Diamant.
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