‘That’s true,’ Martini admitted. ‘It’s quite plausible that he’d be violent as an adult after what had happened to him as a child.’
‘That’s how monsters are created. In the Derg case, there wasn’t any evidence either – only clues. Vogel put on a show for the media and persuaded the prosecutor to incriminate Derg. But in the end, the bookkeeper was exonerated.’
‘How?’
‘The explosive used by the Mutilator was rudimentary. Any amateur could have assembled it with products found in a local hardware store. But there’s a problem: it leaves a chemical trace on anyone who handles it. There were no traces of it on Derg …’
‘And this was enough to exonerate him?’
‘No, of course not. The most important clue against him had been found during a police search. In his apartment, Derg had a biscuit tin that was identical to the one in which the Mutilator had hid one of his devices. On top of that, its serial number showed that it had been bought in one of the very same shops where the maniac had struck – a shop Derg had always denied ever visiting.’
‘So how—’
‘This is where it gets interesting. Whoever planted that tin in his house to frame him hadn’t checked the date on the biscuits. They were manufactured when Derg was in prison, awaiting trial, which means he couldn’t have bought them. As a result, he was released and the case against him was immediately dropped.’
Martini thought about this. ‘And what about Vogel?’
‘Vogel saved face by shifting blame onto one of his subordinates, a young officer who was dismissed. He always does that: he finds a scapegoat he can sacrifice if need be … Still, after Derg, the media started to be suspicious of Vogel’s tip-offs and gradually consigned him to obscurity.’
‘Until now,’ Martini said. ‘I’m his chance to grab the spotlight back.’
‘Except that when that happens, we’ll show him up for what he is: a fraud.’
Martini seemed to have regained a degree of confidence. ‘I’ll get out of this, then.’
‘Yes, but at what price?’ Levi’s tone turned serious again. ‘Derg spent four years in jail, waiting for his trial to end. During that time, he had a stroke and lost his job, his friends and his family.’
Martini realised that Levi’s speech was heading in a specific direction. ‘What can I do to avoid that?’
‘Forget you’re innocent.’
Martini didn’t understand what he meant, but the lawyer dismissed him with a handshake and no further explanation.
‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ he promised.
Borghi had spent a sleepless night. He had tossed and turned, endlessly recalling the scene he’d witnessed outside the Kastners’ house: that poor, dazed woman wandering in her nightdress amid the kittens people had brought for her daughter, trying to make sense of her grief.
Cats are the answer, he told himself.
The brown and ginger hairs that had been found in Martini’s 4 × 4 made no sense. When he’d first heard about them, Borghi had followed the same thought process as Vogel.
The Martinis didn’t have a cat. Anna Lou desperately wanted one.
In his sleepless state, Borghi had concluded that the key to solving this riddle lay with the girl. And yet everybody had lost interest in her. They no longer wondered what had happened to her. The media, the public and the police had moved on to questions of a different kind. How did the teacher kill her? Did he rape her first? They took it as read that she had been murdered and, although they wouldn’t openly admit it, they were busy feeding their own prurient imaginations with gory details.
Nobody, however, was asking ‘Why did he kill her?’
The motive an apparently harmless teacher in a small town in the mountains might have for murdering a girl as invisible as Anna Lou remained an unexpressed question. And yet it was bound to be crucial.
Why did he kill her?
By dawn, Borghi had realised that she had to be their starting point. Anna Lou Kastner. What did they know about her? Only what friends and relatives had said. But was that enough? There was a lesson he had learned at the police academy.
That victims, too, have voices.
It was all too easy to get resigned to the fact that victims were no longer able to provide their own version of events. But they could. The past usually spoke for them. Only, somebody needed to listen to it.
That was why, after discovering that the school attended by Anna Lou had a video surveillance system to discourage bullying and vandalism, Borghi shut himself in a kind of closet packed with old-fashioned video recorders and spent hours checking the footage featuring the girl. It showed everyday scenes in which Anna Lou appeared in all her innocence. The classrooms weren’t covered, but the canteen, the gym and the corridors were, and whenever she appeared in any of these she was always the same. Shy, reserved, but capable of responding with a smile to those who spoke to her. There was nothing unusual in her behaviour.
The system was reset every two weeks, which meant that the recordings were erased and the tapes reused. Fortunately, the Christmas holidays had interrupted the cycle, and more than two weeks had been preserved.
The two weeks or so before her disappearance.
Still, there were hours and hours of footage. Borghi had adopted a method by which he would choose parts of the tape at random and search for the girl in them. He sat on a folding chair in front of a black-and-white monitor, a flask of coffee beside him, although the coffee had long turned cold. He had watched lots of scenes, none of them showing Anna Lou and Martini together. Right now, he was watching footage of the last school day before the holidays, which was also the day before the disappearance. His mobile phone rang.
‘Why didn’t you call me last night?’ It was Caroline, and she sounded annoyed.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry. My work’s taking up a lot of my time.’
‘Is your work more important than your pregnant wife?’ It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.
‘Of course not,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t trying to defend myself, it’s the truth. If I’m working, I can’t call you, but I think of you constantly.’
At the other end of the line, Caroline sighed. Maybe it was one of her ‘good’ days, when her hormones weren’t driving her crazy. But Borghi couldn’t possibly say that to her, or she would hit the roof.
‘Have you received the things I sent you?’
‘Yes – thank you. I really did need a change of clothes.’
‘My father saw you on television last night.’
Borghi could picture her smiling. That was why she wasn’t angry: she was proud of him. ‘Oh? How did I come across?’
‘All I can say is that I hope our daughter takes after me.’ They laughed. ‘My mother would like us to stay here for a while after she’s born.’
They had already discussed this at length. Caroline had said that her mother could help her in the beginning, but that would involve his moving there, too, and, however well Borghi got on with his in-laws, he didn’t want to take the risk of living with them in case it turned out to be an indefinite stay. ‘Can we talk about this when I get back? After all, the baby isn’t due for some months yet.’
Caroline ignored him. ‘Dad has already prepared a room for us at the end of the corridor. It was my brother’s before he went to live on his own. It’s out of the way, so we’ll have our privacy.’
Caroline’s tone suggested she had already decided for both of them. Borghi would have liked to respond, but just then he noticed something on the monitor and sat up straight on the folding chair. ‘Sorry, Caroline, I have to call you back.’
‘I can’t believe that on one of the rare occasions we get to talk, you brush me off like this.’
‘I know, forgive me.’ He hung up without waiting for a reply. Then he focused on the video.
There on the screen, Anna Lou and the teacher were finally in the same frame.
The school corridor was deserted except for the gir
l, who was walking along carrying some books. Then Martini appeared from the opposite direction.
They walked past each other, almost touching.
Borghi rewound the tape and watched the scene again. One thing in particular struck him. If the media got hold of this, there would be a big hoo-ha. He would have to inform Vogel.
At eleven that night, Martini was sitting on the living room sofa, in the dark. The voices of the crews camped outside his house could be heard inside. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but every now and then he heard laughter.
It’s always strange when your life comes to a halt while other people’s lives continue, he thought. That was how he felt. As if his life was at a standstill.
He had switched off the lights in order to stop the people out there from peering through the windows to see what the monster was up to. But there was also another reason. He wanted to avoid Clea and Monica’s eyes, which kept following him around the house from their framed photographs. They had run away from him, and now he wanted to run away from them. Although he was angry, he could understand their point of view. When it came down to it, it was for their own good.
Suddenly there was a vibration and a little light came on. It was the mobile phone Levi had given him, which lay on one of the shelves. Martini stood up from the sofa and went to check it. There was a message on the screen.
The cemetery in half an hour.
Martini wondered why the lawyer was suggesting a meeting in such an unusual place instead of the house he had rented as his headquarters. Levi’s words from that morning still echoed in his ears.
Forget you’re innocent.
Maybe he would get an answer. So he concocted an elaborate plan to leave the house unseen. He went upstairs and got out an old jacket and a peaked cap that he felt would be good camouflage. He would avoid the reporters by leaving through the back door and climbing over the garden hedge.
It took him over half an hour to reach the cemetery because he was constantly stopping to make sure nobody was following him. The main gate was half open. He pushed it, walked in, and began advancing between the gravestones.
There was a full, grey moon in the sky. Martini wandered about for a while, certain that Levi would appear any second now. He noticed an intermittent red dot in the distance. He followed it as if it were a beacon pointing him in the right direction. As he drew closer to the light, he realised it was a cigarette, the tip of it lighting up and then fading whenever Stella Honer took a drag.
‘Calm down, I’m here as a friend,’ she immediately said in an amused tone. She was sitting on a gravestone, legs crossed, as if she was in someone’s living room.
‘What do you want?’ he asked angrily.
‘To help you, Loris.’
He was annoyed at being addressed in such a familiar way. ‘I don’t need your help, Signora Honer.’
‘Do you want me to prove what a good friend I am? All right … Six months ago, your wife was about to leave you for another man. You moved here to try and start all over again.’
The thing, Martini thought. How did she know that?
‘You see? We’re friends,’ Stella went on, seeing that Martini was more surprised than angry. Vogel, who had passed the information on to her, knew he would react that way. ‘I could have used that, but I didn’t … I know Clea’s left and taken your daughter with her. If you want them back, you need to be smart.’
‘When everything’s been straightened out, they’ll come home and we’ll go back to our old life.’
Stella tilted her head and looked at him tenderly. ‘Poor darling, do you seriously think that’s what’ll happen?’
‘I’m innocent.’
‘In that case, you haven’t understood a damn thing.’ In her mouth, it sounded like a threat. ‘Nobody gives a hoot whether you’re innocent or not. People have already decided. And the police will never leave you alone: they’re spending tons of money on solving this case and they don’t have the resources to afford another investigation – and especially not another culprit.’
Martini swallowed with difficulty but tried to appear calm. ‘So you’re saying it’s me or it’s nobody.’
‘Precisely. There’s only one reason you’re still free: they haven’t found a body, and without a body they can’t officially charge someone with murder. But something will turn up sooner or later, Loris, it always does.’
‘If I’m screwed, why would I need you, Signora Honer?’ Once again he addressed her formally: it was important to establish boundaries.
She paused briefly and smiled. Her deep eyes gleamed in the moonlight. ‘You need me in order to take maximum advantage of this business. You could get a lot out of the very same media that are currently hostile to you. Right now, an interview with you would be worth its weight in gold. And I want to buy it … Of course, the offer’s only valid for as long as you’re free. You’ll be worth nothing any more once you’re in jail.’
‘Did Levi organise this meeting? That little speech he made this morning …’ Martini gave a grimace of disgust.
‘Your lawyer’s a practical man. If you want to hang on to the hope that you’ll get out of this, you’ll need enough money to pay for a whole other investigation, involving experts and private detectives.’
‘Yes, he told me that.’
‘And just where do you think you’re going to find the money? And have you thought of what’ll happen to your family while you’re in prison? How will they manage?’
He should have lost his temper, but instead he started to laugh. Stella was quite surprised by this reaction, but Martini seemed unable to stop himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, managing to regain some self-control. ‘This is so strange. As far as everybody’s concerned, I’m the monster. They don’t need any proof. Even my wife isn’t sure. But you know what I say?’ He took a deep breath, quite serious now. ‘That I know exactly who I am. So there’s no way I’m going to gain financially from a missing girl and her family’s grief just to save myself or my wife and daughter. You can tell that to my lawyer.’ He turned to leave.
‘You’re a fool, you know that?’ Stella Honer said.
But for an answer, she had to make do with the sight of Martini’s back as he walked away.
That evening, Vogel had had a light dinner in his hotel room and was now writing something down in his usual black notebook before going to bed. He was sitting in an armchair in his dressing gown, smiling to himself. He was certain that old weasel Levi had already started to move his pieces on the chessboard.
When he had heard that the lawyer was in town, he hadn’t been hugely surprised. Levi always jumped on the bandwagon. You expected him to turn up at any minute, although the exact details of his act could be a surprise. He might be the magician who astounds the crowd or the clown who comes in to distract the audience while the lion tears the tamer to shreds. In this case, Levi must surely have contacted Stella Honer and got her to persuade the teacher to throw himself to the wolves of his own accord.
Martini would agree. Because in the end, everybody agreed. Derg, too, had worn the mask of a monster for a while – long enough to make some money before again proclaiming his innocence.
If Martini went on television, things would be simpler for Vogel. The idiot would be sure to beg for the public’s sympathy, but would only end up increasing their anger. And then everybody would demand his head on a platter – not just ordinary people, but also the police bigwigs and even the minister. And there would be nothing Prosecutor Mayer could do about it.
When his mobile started to vibrate, Vogel was surprised. He recognised the mysterious sender he’d had a text from four days earlier, after the press conference.
I need to talk to you. Call me on this number.
Again, he decided to ignore whoever it was and deleted the message without further thought. There was a knock at the door. Vogel wondered if the two events might be connected. Certain it was the mystery caller, he opened the door abruptly.
It was Borghi, looking rumpled and with dark rings under his eyes. He was carrying a laptop in a case. ‘May I have a word?’
‘Can we leave it until tomorrow?’ Vogel said irritably. ‘I was just going to bed.’
‘I have to show you something,’ Borghi said, patting the case. ‘I think you should see it now.’
Moments later, the laptop was open on Vogel’s bed and the two men stood staring at the screen.
‘I found this on the school’s video surveillance system,’ Borghi said. ‘Look what happens …’
He had watched this footage about twenty times, but this was Vogel’s first time. Anna Lou was walking calmly along the deserted corridor. Then Loris Martini came towards her from the opposite direction. They passed very close to each other, then both vanished from the frame.
Borghi paused the video. ‘Did you see that?’
‘See what?’ Vogel asked, still irritable.
‘They didn’t even look at each other … I can rewind it if you like and show it to you again.’
As Borghi reached out his hand to replay the sequence, Vogel grabbed him by the wrist. ‘No need.’
‘Why not?’ He was surprised. ‘One of the cornerstones of the accusation is that Anna Lou knew her kidnapper, remember? That’s why she trusted him, why she went with him, why none of the neighbours saw or heard anything. You said that yourself.’
Vogel was unable to suppress a smile. The young man’s naïvety was touching. ‘And you think this proves that Anna Lou didn’t know who Martini was?’
Borghi thought for a moment. ‘Well, actually—’
‘Actually, she may have known very well who he was. The reason she didn’t look at him might be because she was shy.’
But Borghi couldn’t accept this explanation. ‘It’s still a risk.’
‘For whom? For us? Are you afraid that if the media found out about this video, they’d change their minds about Martini?’
Of course not, but Borghi was only now figuring it out. Everything had already been decided. Barring any sudden dramatic turn of events, they wouldn’t change their minds about Martini. Simply because it wasn’t convenient for them.
The Girl in the Fog Page 17
