Dear Child: The twisty thriller that starts where others end

by Romy Hausmann

  ‘Later. I need you for the time being,’ Frau Hamstedt says. She sounds very important.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This is the second thing that’s different today.’

  With her long legs she gets up awkwardly from the little chair and walks over to the large desk. I can only see her back, but I hear her rustling paper. When she turns to me again she’s holding a drawing. I know at once that Jonathan did it: black scribbles. Frau Hamstedt returns to the table and squeezes herself back into the chair. Only now do I realise that he actually drew something different under the black scribbles.

  ‘Go on, you can have it,’ Frau Hamstedt says, waving the piece of paper at me. I take it and put it on the table in front of me. Since we stopped drawing together Frau Hamstedt hasn’t shown me any of Jonathan’s pictures.

  ‘I need your help, Hannah, to work out what it is he drew there.’

  I trace my finger over what remains of her face below the scribbles. He did it well; just for once he’s made a real effort.

  ‘That’s your mama, isn’t it?’

  He’s given her a long dress. But her feet must be cold because he’s forgotten to draw her any shoes, the silly little boy.

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘And that’s your real mama? I mean, the woman who gave birth to you and Jonathan? Or is it the woman who came to the cabin after her?’

  ‘Papa said that’s not important.’

  ‘Not important?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether she gave birth to us or not. What’s important is that she behaves well and loves us.’

  ‘That’s what your papa said?’

  I shrug.

  Frau Hamstedt looks at me as if I ought to say something else, but I don’t. Eventually she’s had enough of waiting for an answer and starts speaking again herself.

  ‘Take another look at the picture, Hannah. A close look.’

  I look. Mama’s holding something in her arms, a bundle with a face.

  ‘I can see a baby in her arms.’ Frau Hamstedt taps the bundle. ‘Is that Jonathan?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Or you, Hannah? Is that you?’

  ‘It’s meant to be Sara, but Jonathan hasn’t drawn her particularly well, do you see?’ I point to the mouth. ‘Here she’s smiling, but in fact all she ever did was howl.’ When I look up there are red blotches on Frau Hamstedt’s face and neck.

  ‘Who is Sara?’

  ‘Our sister.’ I scratch my neck, which has started itching as if I’ve been infected by Frau Hamstedt’s blotches. ‘But we didn’t keep her for very long because she was nothing but trouble.’

  Matthias

  After an initial examination at the hospital in Cham, which the police had ordered, the children were taken to Regensburg. Although Cham has its own psychiatric clinic, it doesn’t specialise in treating children. I’d have preferred them to be admitted to an institution in Munich, but as I didn’t yet have any DNA proof that I was the grandfather, they ignored my requests. For two weeks now I’ve been driving between Munich and Regensburg every day. An hour and a half if the traffic’s good. Karin thinks that’s too long. Too much time which could be put to better use. She keeps asking me when I’m going to re-open my office, and even says it would do me good to work on tax documents with other people again. But both of us know that ever since Lena disappeared, and the mud-slinging in the press that followed it, I’ve hardly had any clients. Since the night of the accident two weeks ago a sign has been hanging on the door that says: Closed due to family emergency. Karin pops in occasionally to listen to the answerphone messages and water the plants. I used to be able to afford two assistants, back in the day when my clients saw me as a meticulous tax advisor rather than the violent criminal who’d badly beaten up the nice up-and-coming actor. What Karin doesn’t yet know is that I’m considering closing the practice for good. I am, after all, sixty-two now. The mortgage has been paid off and we have some savings. I could retire and be a grandfather. Abuelo . . .

  ‘No, I don’t want you to,’ I told her at breakfast when she said she was thinking of coming with me today to fetch Hannah from Regensburg. ‘The drive is too long, you’re right. The section on the A9 is usually congested. You know how long it always takes me.’ So many dinners have gone cold over the past two weeks.

  In truth I’m looking forward to picking up Hannah on my own. The idea of being able to drive home with her feels like a celebration. Lena loved going in the car when she was a little girl. Occasionally, when it was a long drive, she made me stop en route. Once, when she spotted an entire field of sunflowers, she grabbed my headrest with her little hands and shook it until I gave in. We parked at the first opportunity and went back to pick sunflowers and gaze at the cloud formations. Sometimes our reason for stopping was just a service station with the prospect of an ice cream. I think Lena told Hannah about this, and in great detail too. She told her everything. For example, Hannah knows what our garden plot looks like as if she’d been there hundreds of times herself. Our plot is just outside of Germering, where we live, not far from Munich. It’s an idyllic spot right on the edge of the forest. I inherited it from my mother, Lena’s grandmother. We used to spend many a weekend there. Lena loved the hydrangeas. Once Hannah’s settled in with us, I’m going to take her to the garden as soon as I can, before the hydrangeas wither.

  *

  So now I’m sitting in our old Volvo, the back seat still empty. It’s another twelve kilometres to Regensburg. My mobile buzzes inside my jacket pocket. I leave it, not because you shouldn’t use a mobile phone while driving, but because it strikes me that it might be Dr Hamstedt calling to say she’s changed her mind, I can’t pick Hannah up. Or Karin. Karin might say the same thing, but for other reasons. I turn up the radio. The weather report is promising an absolutely gorgeous late summer’s day. I’m not going to let anyone ruin that for me.

  It’s almost half past eleven when I turn into one of the visitors’ parking places behind the large building. I’m really early – we’d agreed twelve o’clock. I turn off the engine and take the mobile from my pocket. I’ve missed four calls. All from Karin. She’s sent me a text message too, but I’m careful not to open it. There is no way back. This is the most normal thing in the world. Hannah belongs to us. I put the mobile back into my pocket and get out.

  The district clinic consists of several buildings dotted around the campus like a small village. Every day I walk past the unmissable sign pointing the way to the ‘Clinic for Paediatric and Adolescent Psychiatry, Psychosomatic Medicine and Psychotherapy’ and look at the ground. ‘Psychiatry’ is an ugly word. For Hannah it’s a ‘children’s clinic’, for me a ‘trauma centre’.

  I enter the building, which reminds me of a huge, multi-storeyed version of Lena’s old primary school: lots of glass and colourful steel struts. The woman on reception knows me by now and raises her hand.

  ‘Good morning, Herr Beck!’

  ‘Hello, Frau Sommer. I’m quite early.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Please go up. They’re already waiting for you anyway.’

  *

  I realise at once that it’s Frank Giesner, even though he’s got his back to me as I walk along the second-floor corridor towards Dr Hamstedt’s office. It seems as if he only has that one suit, mouse-grey; it’s too broad at the shoulders and makes his back look bigger than it really is. With him is another policeman, in uniform, and Dr Hamstedt. They talk in hushed tones until Dr Hamstedt notices me and pauses, and a second later all three of them have turned in my direction.

  ‘Ah, Herr Beck, it’s good you’re here,’ Giesner says.

  I begin to shuffle. It briefly crosses my mind that for some reason Dr Hamstedt has called for police support to stop me from taking Hannah away. I square my shoulders and jut out my chi
n. Hannah is my granddaughter, I’m her abuelo and I’m taking her home.

  ‘Dr Hamstedt, Herr Giesner,’ I say curtly. I give the uniformed policeman a nod.

  ‘Herr Beck,’ Dr Hamstedt says with a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with Hannah? Where is she?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Herr Beck. She’s waiting in my office with a nurse.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Giesner puts a hand on my shoulder and sighs. ‘There’s been a new development,’ he says. ‘Dr Hamstedt called me earlier to tell me about a therapy session she’d had with Hannah. Apparently, Herr Beck, there’s a third child.’

  ‘Sara,’ Dr Hamstedt adds.

  ‘Sara,’ I repeat inanely.

  Dr Hamstedt nods.

  ‘We need you now, Herr Beck. Help us to talk to Hannah.’

  Hannah

  Mama’s screaming made me worried. Worry isn’t really fear, but it’s not good either. I leaped up from the edge of the bed and squeezed myself up to Papa, who was standing beside the bed. It was lucky he was there because he could make the cabin warm and cook for us. Now he held me very tight. His large, warm hand was over my right ear and I could hear the sea. I’d pressed my left ear against his chest. On one side the sea was roaring, on the other his tummy was gurgling.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he said, stroking my hair. ‘The pain is a good thing. It means the baby’s on its way.’

  I turned to look at Mama who was writhing on the bed. Her face looked really ugly. The sheet made waves beneath her convulsions. Her chunky silver bracelet clattered against the bedpost and her legs were tangled up in the duvet.

  ‘It’s fine, Hannah, it’s all fine,’ she blurted out between two screams.

  ‘Shall we help Mama by holding her hand?’ Papa said.

  I wasn’t sure at first, but then I nodded. Everything was fine. The pain was good. The baby was on its way.

  But that wasn’t the case. They were wrong. The baby wouldn’t come.

  Mama had been screaming since yesterday.

  I didn’t want to hold her hand anymore, none of us did. We were tired, nobody could sleep with all that screaming and we were all nervous. Even Fräulein Tinky. She’d knocked over my cup that morning. My hot chocolate had spilled all over the table and floor. She knew she wasn’t allowed on the table. Papa came. He’d probably heard me giving Fräulein Tinky a telling-off. He agreed with me that cats weren’t allowed on the table. Fräulein Tinky tried to hide under the sofa, but he found her, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and took her outside, outside the front door. I thought that was okay at first; after all, she had to learn. But no sooner had Papa locked the door again than I started getting scared. It was dangerous outside. What if Fräulein Tinky got lost and couldn’t find her way home? If she got frightened? If she thought we didn’t love her anymore? Now Mama’s screams were really horrible. Papa was going to check on her, then get a bucket and a cloth so I could clean up the mess Fräulein Tinky had made.

  ‘Papa?’ I managed to say just before he left the room.

  He turned around.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Hannah?’ He smiled, went on one knee and held his hand out to me. Our eyes were at the same level. Papa always says that if you can’t look someone in the eye they’ve got something to hide.

  ‘We have to let Fräulein Tinky back in. It’s far too cold for her outside.’

  ‘She needs to be taught a lesson, Hannah,’ Papa said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. ‘Now I’ve got to check on Mama, darling. She needs me.’

  I nodded.

  I heard Mama screaming. And Fräulein Tinky outside, scratching the door and meowing woefully . . .

  *

  ‘Hannah?’ It’s Grandad. He must have realised I was lost in thought.

  In turn I see him, Frau Hamstedt and the policeman in the grey suit. They’re sitting with me in Frau Hamstedt’s office, waiting for me to tell them something about Sara. But I don’t want to talk about Sara. I told Frau Hamstedt about her this morning. Surely that’s enough. I told her that Sara was our sister and we didn’t keep her for long. Frau Hamstedt wanted to know more. ‘What do you mean by that, Hannah?’ ‘What does that mean?’ ‘Would you like to do a drawing?’

  I said ‘no’ in my lion voice and told her I wanted to go back to my room. I wanted to have a rest because you always have to have enough rest before you do something special. And today I was going to do something special.

  My grandad’s going to take me home. I’m his favourite grandchild, I’ve known that for a while. He doesn’t go to appointments with Jonathan, but that’s not Grandad’s fault. Jonathan doesn’t want to leave the clinic. That’s why he hasn’t been to see the dentist and hasn’t got a star sticker either.

  ‘Hannah?’ Grandad says. ‘You can tell them. I’m here too, there’s no need to worry.’

  I’m not worried, I just don’t want to talk about Sara anymore. The world doesn’t just revolve around her. There are far more important things.

  ‘Has anyone found Fräulein Tinky yet?’ I ask. ‘I bet she’s really missing me.’

  Matthias

  Giesner wants us to go on a little stroll around the grounds of the clinic. I’d have rather left with Hannah right after the conversation in Dr Hamstedt’s office. We could have been halfway down the motorway by now. But, with a doubtful glance at Hannah, Giesner said, ‘Dr Hamstedt has told me about your plans.’ At least he had the decency not to discuss these in front of the girl. He nodded towards the door.

  ‘Let’s go and stretch our legs, Herr Beck.’

  Hannah stayed with Dr Hamstedt. I promised I wouldn’t be long and thought I could see a fleeting smile dart across her lips. Her smile is really enchanting.

  ‘I can understand that you want to take the girl back with you,’ Giesner says the moment we step out of the large glass door and on to the gravel path that runs around the clinic.

  ‘Dr Hamstedt is in favour of the idea,’ I say cautiously. If Hannah and I were to set off in the next half an hour we’d be able to stop once or twice on the way. Otherwise it’ll be too late; Karin was right about that. She said it would be better if Hannah got to know her new home in daylight. Although Karin’s reasoning was that if Hannah didn’t feel comfortable at our house I’d be able to drive her back to the clinic in time for dinner. I said, ‘That’s what we’ll do, darling,’ and smiled.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Giesner says, putting a cigarette between his lips. I didn’t know he smoked. ‘Want one?’

  I tap the left-hand side of my chest and say, ‘My doctor would tear strips off me. It was a close-run thing on two occasions.’ I’ve no idea why I’m telling him about my dicky heart. Maybe it’s to make him feel sympathy – just let the sick old man have his granddaughter, he’s not got long to go. And indeed, there is a hint of concern on Giesner’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, blowing the smoke from his first drag over his shoulder, away from the sick old man. ‘Would you rather I . . . ?’

  ‘No, no, it doesn’t bother me. You wanted a word.’

  ‘Yes. As I say, I can understand you want to take Hannah back with you. The question is – and I’ve put this to Dr Hamstedt too – is there any way we can use the situation for our investigation? Dr Hamstedt thinks there might be a chance.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Giesner points to a bench a few metres away on the edge of the gravel path.

  ‘Let’s sit down over there for a moment.’

  We wander over in silence, our shoes crunching on the gravel.

  ‘Herr Beck,’ Giesner begins again when we’re sitting, ‘Hannah is an important, but also very tricky, witness. I don’t understand much about psychology, but it makes sense to me when Dr Hamstedt warns us against putting her under pressure
. On the other hand, she hasn’t been particularly helpful for our investigation so far.’

  ‘Aren’t children always tricky witnesses?’

  ‘Hmm, you might be right.’ Giesner takes a puff on his cigarette. ‘When we question children we usually come up against two types of reaction. It takes some of them a long time to start talking because they’re intimidated, and then they only say the bare minimum. By contrast, others are talkative from the start and just keep babbling away as if they’d been waiting for their cue. Along with a description of the perpetrator, you get details of what they had for lunch and what Ernie said in the last episode of Sesame Street.’ He smirks, I don’t. When he notices the lack of any change in my expression, he clears his throat. ‘Well, what I’m trying to say is that these children, some of them quite a bit younger than Hannah, at least understand why we need their assistance and make every effort to help solve the case.’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I still have no idea what you’re getting at.’

  Giesner bends down to the side of the bench to stub out his cigarette.

  ‘Hannah doesn’t obviously belong in either of these two categories, which makes the whole thing even more complicated.’ When he sits up again I notice a strange expression on his face. ‘She’s got a really enquiring mind, don’t you think?’ he says with a frown and searching, narrowed eyes. ‘For example, she was able to tell me how the blue lights on a police car work. But when I ask her for her father’s name, I only ever get “Papa” as an answer, or nothing. And I wonder why. This is a girl who seeks answers to everything. Has it never surprised you that Frau Grass suddenly appeared in the cabin as a replacement for Lena? Did she accept her mother’s disappearance just like that?’

  ‘Please,’ I say, waving my hand in the air in annoyance. ‘You’re not seriously saying that Hannah might be deliberately holding back information?’ I laugh. ‘It’s called trauma, Herr Giesner. And who knows what that monster might have done to her if she’d dared ask the wrong questions?’