‘In all modesty,’ Odevis went on, expanding on his theory, ‘I’ve always known where the money goes. It’s a matter of instinct. You either have it or you don’t.’
Martini and his wife nodded, because they didn’t know what else to say.
‘Here’s the coffee,’ Signora Odevis announced radiantly, bringing in a silver tray with small cups.
Martini couldn’t help noticing that she was still wearing the gold and diamond necklace her husband had given her as a present, even though she must have known this wasn’t the time or place to show it off. The presents had been unwrapped just before lunch, right there in front of them. The Odevises had been unconcerned about the embarrassment this would cause their guests. They had wanted to display their treasures. Martini was still angry about it, but Clea hadn’t yet given him the signal that they should go. He wondered why not. Maybe his wife really cared about their friendship with these rich country bumpkins.
As they chatted, the couple’s children, a boy and a girl aged ten and twelve respectively, played with a games console connected to a large plasma screen. The game – a war game, of course – was too loud, but nobody told them to turn it down. Monica, meanwhile, was slumped in an armchair, her legs over the armrest, her brand-new red combat boots in full view. Her parents’ Christmas present hadn’t broken through her shell, and now, not having said a word for the last three hours, she was fiddling with her mobile.
‘Some people say the mine has killed the economy of the valley, but that’s bullshit,’ Odevis went on. ‘In my opinion, people just weren’t clever enough to take advantage of it.’ He turned to Clea. ‘By the way, I’ve heard you were a lawyer before you moved to Avechot.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted with some difficulty. ‘I worked for a law firm in the city.’
‘Haven’t you thought of doing the same thing here?’
Clea avoided looking at her husband. ‘It’s hard in a place you don’t know well.’
The truth was, it would be too expensive to set up a practice.
‘Then let me make you an offer.’ He smiled at his wife, who encouraged him to continue. ‘Come and work for me. There’s always a need for someone to look over our legal paperwork. You’d make a perfect secretary.’
Taken aback, Clea said nothing. She was in a difficult position. There had been a number of arguments with her husband over her insistence on looking for a job. Martini didn’t want her to settle for working in a shop, and being a secretary wasn’t much of a step up from that. ‘Thank you,’ she said at last with a polite smile. ‘But for now, I’d rather devote myself to our home. There’s still such a lot to do. It seems like a house move never ends.’
Martini noticed that his daughter had suddenly lost interest in her mobile. After contemptuously raising her eyes to heaven, she was now staring at him as if blaming him for everything.
The job offer and the refusal had created an uncomfortable atmosphere among those present. Luckily, the house phone rang at that moment, distracting them. Odevis went to answer it, exchanged a few sentences with whoever was on the other end, hung up and grabbed the plasma set’s remote. ‘He said I should watch something on TV.’
He changed channels, heedless of the protests from his children, who had been deprived of their video game.
The distressed faces of Maria and Bruno Kastner appeared on the screen.
The missing girl’s father was holding up to the camera a photograph of his daughter in a white tunic with a wooden crucifix. The mother was staring straight into the camera. ‘Our daughter Anna Lou is a kind girl, those who know her know that she has a good heart: she loves cats and she trusts people. That’s why we’re also appealing to those who’ve never known her in her first sixteen years of life: if you’ve seen her or have any idea where she is, help us to bring her home.’
In the Odevises’ living room, as in other Avechot homes probably, the festive atmosphere vanished. Martini turned slightly to his wife, who was staring at the woman on the screen, her eyes wide with fear, as if looking at herself in a mirror.
Then, when Maria Kastner spoke directly to her daughter, the Christmas warmth evaporated completely, leaving only a cold sense of presentiment in everyone’s heart. ‘Anna Lou … Mummy, Daddy and your brothers love you. Wherever you are, I hope that our voice and our love reach you. And when you come home, we’ll let you have the kitten you want so much, Anna Lou, I promise you … May the Lord protect you, my child.’
Odevis switched off the television and poured himself a glass of whisky from the drinks cabinet. ‘The mayor says a police big shot has arrived in Avechot to head the investigation. One of those guys who’s always on TV.’
‘At least something’s being done,’ his wife said. ‘I didn’t get the impression the local authorities were all that serious about the search before.’
‘The only thing they’re good at is handing out fines.’ Odevis knew that all too well: he’d received several for speeding in his Porsche.
Martini listened, drinking his coffee, but said nothing.
‘In any case,’ Odevis continued, ‘I don’t believe this story everyone’s telling, the little saint who’s only interested in her home and her church. I think this Anna Lou had something to hide.’
‘How do you know that?’ Clea said indignantly.
‘Because that’s the way it always is. Maybe she ran away because someone got her pregnant. It happens at that age. They have sex and then, when it’s too late, they’re sorry.’
‘So where do you think she is now?’ Clea asked, hoping to demolish such an absurd version of events.
‘How am I supposed to know?’ he replied, opening his arms wide. ‘She’ll come back eventually, and then her parents and that brotherhood lot will try and hush everything up.’
Clea grabbed her husband’s hand, the bandaged one. She squeezed it, heedless of the wound. Martini bore the pain. He didn’t want his wife to get into an argument. There was always a lot to learn from people as narrow-minded as Odevis. And indeed, Odevis now came out with his own masterpiece of logic.
‘If you ask me, it’s something to do with one of those immigrants. They’re always coming to me, looking for work. Don’t get me wrong: I’m no racist. But I don’t think they should let all these people in from countries where sex isn’t allowed. They’re bound to want to relieve their frustrations on our daughters.’
For some reason, Martini thought, racists always felt the need to preface their remarks with a declaration that they weren’t racists. Clea was about to explode, but luckily Odevis turned to him. ‘What do you think, Loris?’
Martini considered this for a moment before replying. ‘A few days ago, when Clea and I talked about this business, I told her Anna Lou had probably run away from home and everything would soon be sorted out. But now I think too much time has gone by … What I mean is, we can’t rule out the possibility that something may have happened to the girl.’
‘Yes, but what?’ Odevis insisted.
Martini knew that what he was about to say would increase Clea’s anxiety. ‘I’m a parent, and even in a desperate situation a parent always likes to look for a glimmer of hope. But I think the Kastners should start to prepare for the worst.’
His words made everyone fall silent. It wasn’t so much the meaning of the words as Martini’s tone. He sounded convinced, with no room for doubt.
‘Shall we do this again next year?’ Odevis suggested, standing with one arm around his wife’s shoulders at the door of their splendid, gaudy villa.
‘Of course,’ Martini said, although he didn’t sound convinced. Monica had already gone back inside their house, while he and Clea had lingered to say goodbye to their neighbours.
‘Good,’ Odevis said. ‘It’s a deal.’
Martini and his wife left, their arms around each other. As they crossed the street, they heard the door close behind them. Clea pulled away from her husband a little too abruptly.
‘What’s the matter? What have I
done?’
She turned. She was angry. ‘It’s because he offered me a job as a secretary, isn’t it?’
‘What? I don’t understand …’
‘Just now,’ she said, as if stating the obvious, ‘when you said all those things about Anna Lou’s family. About the Kastners preparing for the worst …’
‘What of it? It’s what I think.’
‘No, you said it on purpose. You wanted to punish me because I wasn’t firm enough about turning down Odevis’s offer.’
‘Please, Clea, don’t start this now.’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down! You know perfectly well how this business has affected me. Or have you forgotten that we have a sixteen-year-old daughter and that all this is happening in a place we decided to bring her against her will?’
Clea had folded her arms and was shaking, but Martini knew it wasn’t just from the cold. ‘OK, you’re right. I was wrong.’
She looked at him and saw that he was genuinely sorry. She came up to him and placed her head on his chest. Martini put his arms around her to warm her. Clea looked up, seeking his eyes. ‘Please tell me you didn’t mean those things.’
‘I didn’t mean them,’ he lied.
27 December
Four days after the disappearance
They arrived in groups or alone. Some even brought their families. There was a constant but orderly toing and froing. They would approach the house and lay a kitten – a cuddly toy, a rag doll, a ceramic figurine – on the ground. The glow of the candles was reflected on their faces. They would stand silently in that oasis of light and warmth surrounded by the dark and the cold and find solace.
Clea had seen the images of this impromptu pilgrimage to the Kastners’ house on television and immediately asked her husband to take her there. Monica had stayed at home but had given her mother one of her favourite dolls to take as an offering to the missing girl.
A cuddly pink kitten.
Clea and her daughter had become much closer in the past few days. That was the power of evil when it happened to somebody else, Martini thought. It had a healing effect on the lives of strangers, helping them to rediscover the true value of what they had. Afraid of losing it, they would hasten to keep it safe before someone or something could take it away. The Kastners hadn’t been quick enough. It was their thankless task to be the beginning of the chain, to pass the message on to others.
Martini was parked a hundred or so metres from the little house where Anna Lou had grown up. A police cordon was stopping cars from getting any closer. People were streaming in on foot. Clea had joined the small crowd and he waited for her in the car.
His bandaged hand resting on the wheel, Martini watched the scene through the windscreen.
There were the network vans and the TV news correspondents, each lit by the beam of a small spotlight. They talked about the past and the present, because they knew nothing about the future. But that was the way to grab an audience, letting a sense of mystery hover over every story. TV reporters, photographers, pressmen had come running, attracted by the smell of grief, which was stronger than the smell of blood – and no blood had flowed in Avechot yet. Other people’s grief produced a strange fragrance: strong, pungent, but at the same time attractive.
Then there were the ordinary people. Many were simply being nosey, but there were a significant number who came there to pray. Martini had never been a man of faith, so he was always astonished at how people could trust blindly in God at times like these. A sixteen-year-old girl had gone missing and her family had been going through hell for several days. A truly kind God would never have allowed this, and yet it had happened. So why, then, should the same God who had allowed this to happen make things right again? Even assuming He existed, He wouldn’t do that. He would let things take their course. And since it was the law of nature that creation should be preceded and followed by destruction, in the eyes of God Anna Lou Kastner could be sacrificed. Maybe that was the key: sacrifice. Without sacrifice, there would be no faith, there would be no martyrs. They had already started to make her into a saint.
Just then, a group of kids from the school walked past the white four-by-four and Martini recognised Priscilla. She was following the others, her back hunched, her hands in the pockets of her parka. She looked sad.
Martini thought for a while, then reached out for the wallet in the back pocket of his trousers and opened it. In one of the folds was the note on which Priscilla had written her mobile number the day before the holidays in the hope of getting acting lessons from him. Martini stared at it. Then he grabbed his mobile and tapped in a message. When he had finished, he raised his eyes to watch the girl and waited.
Priscilla was chatting to a friend when something drew her attention, presumably a sound or a vibration. Martini saw her take one hand out of her parka pocket and look at her display screen for a long time. As she read the text, her face assumed a look of surprise mixed with nervousness. Then she put the phone back in her pocket without saying anything to the others. But it was obvious she was still thinking about it.
Clea’s form appeared in the passenger window as she walked back to the car from the house. Martini leaned over to open the door. She got in. ‘It’s heartbreaking,’ she said. ‘The girl’s parents just came out to thank people. It was so moving. You should have come, too.’
‘Better not,’ he said evasively.
‘You’re right, it’s not in your nature. But you could still make yourself useful.’
Martini saw the supplication in his wife’s eyes. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘I’ve heard they’re organising search parties in the mountains. You’ve been on long hikes all over that area in the past six months, haven’t you? So you could—’
‘OK,’ he interrupted with a smile.
Clea flung her arms around him and planted a big kiss on his cheek. ‘I knew it. You’re a good man.’
Martini started the engine. As he manoeuvred out of his parking spot, he glanced once more in Priscilla’s direction, without his wife noticing.
She was chatting with her friends again, as if nothing had happened.
And she hadn’t replied to his text.
31 December
Eight days after the disappearance
The search parties were following a specific procedure.
The volunteers advanced slowly over the ground in long lines, no more than twenty men in each group, with at least three metres between them, just like the rescue teams who go searching for people missing in an avalanche. But instead of using a stick to poke in the snow, they had been instructed to use their eyes, moving their gaze from one corner to the other of their allocated area and tracing the lines of an imaginary grid.
Obviously, the aim wasn’t just to find a buried body: there were already dogs for that. Mainly, they were looking for clues, anything that might lead to the victim’s current location.
Anna Lou, though, wasn’t officially a victim yet, Martini thought as he walked with the others down a slope in the middle of the woods. And yet she was. It was as if she had been promoted in the field. By now, everyone was convinced there wasn’t going to be a positive outcome. And in fact, deep down, everyone was rather cynically hoping for a negative one. A dramatic ending is what the public expects. Everyone wants to be upset.
Martini had been taking part in the operation for a few days now. The teams were always led by a police officer. In order not to lose concentration, the men took turns, each turn lasting thirty minutes. The shifts lasted a total of four hours.
On the last day of the year, Martini was on the early afternoon shift. It was the shortest, because the sun inevitably set behind the mountains at about three, putting an end to things for the volunteers, who didn’t have night-vision equipment.
The first few times, the search had taken place in almost total silence, the men being careful not to miss anything. Gradually, though, an atmosphere of camaraderie had developed. Some felt it was all right to
make conversation or, worse still, bring food or beer with them as if it was a picnic. Even so, nobody dared stop them.
Needless to say, there was no sign of Anna Lou. Or of her mysterious abductor.
In order to keep his promise to his wife that he would do his best, Martini hadn’t socialised with anyone. He always kept himself to himself, and didn’t respond when the others expressed opinions – opinions that struck him as no better than idle gossip anyway.
Today, he noticed that the atmosphere was different. Everybody was putting in a real effort. The reason was the presence of Bruno Kastner. The missing girl’s father had taken part in the search before, but Martini had never met him. After attending an event in the brotherhood’s assembly room, Kastner had joined the last group. Watching him, Martini noticed that although he was clearly tense, he also had an incredible inner strength. He wasn’t afraid of finding a clue that might indicate there was no hope for his daughter. Because that might also mean a kind of liberation for him. Martini asked himself how he would act in Kastner’s place. There was no answer to the question. You had to experience the excruciating sensation of loss for yourself.
At the end of the operation, the volunteers returned to base camp. A tent had been set up in the clearing in the middle of the woods, where the group leaders took it in turns to deliver their reports. The areas that had been explored were marked on a large map. Some, especially those least accessible, required further investigation by the teams. Then they would outline the timetable for the following day.
The volunteers, who had parked their cars a short distance away, were getting ready to go home. Martini was leaning against the boot of his white four-by-four, taking off his muddy boots.
The Girl in the Fog Page 12
