by Marc Raabe
Gabriel looks at him, dumbfounded. He opens his mouth and wants to say something, but then closes it again quickly.
‘And you know what your boss Mr Sarkov told me? He had expressly sent your colleague Cogan to the house on Kadettenweg and not you!’ Grell leans heavily back into his chair. His face looks like a pale stony moon in the semi-darkness.
‘I know,’ Gabriel mutters. ‘But I went anyway. Cogan has problems with his legs.’
‘With his legs, aha,’ Grell says. ‘That wasn’t mentioned at all. He only said that he went to the address on Kadettenweg, that there were no particular incidents, that he’d turned off the alarm system, closed the doors and then left.’
‘Bullshit,’ Gabriel says hoarsely. ‘He’s just scared that Sarkov will find out that he didn’t go. If he were sitting here, he’d be telling you a different story.’
‘Because then he would be scared of you?’ Grell asks and stares at him with a piercing and calculating expression.
‘No, damn it. Because that’s what happened,’ Gabriel says.
Motionless, Grell considers him from the semi-darkness. The soft rhythmic sound of chewing can be heard – the burly man and his gum.
‘So, to summarise,’ Grell whispers with feigned friendliness. ‘We have witnesses who say Cogan went to Kadettenweg and not you. We have a bunch of details that you described completely differently to how we found them. And we have a black dress in the cellar that apparently only exists in your vivid imagination. But you continue to claim that your version is the truth and all others are wrong, right?’
Gabriel nods.
Grell’s massive upper body springs forward. The light bulb in the lamp shakes from the sudden movement. ‘Then please explain to me how you could name the time of death so precisely. Are you clairvoyant? Or did you happen to look at a clock when you were slitting Mr Münchmaier’s throat?’
‘No,’ Gabriel says. His whole body cramps up. ‘Neither of those things. But I touched your goddamned corpse! And a body is already cold after thirty minutes, but rigor mortis only sets in after an hour. Your body was cold, but not rigid. If you can also read a clock, then you don’t need to be a genius to estimate the time of death. Happy?’
Grell purses his lips.
‘Listen,’ Gabriel says, struggling to maintain composure, ‘your colleague probably also told you that I had an accident on the way. You just have to find the people with the Jaguar. That will take you five minutes, no more. Just go through all of the reports from yesterday from between eleven and twelve o’clock. The two of them will sure as hell recognise me.’
Grell nods thoughtfully and then smiles. ‘Oh, right, the whole incident of the hit-and-run. I almost forgot.’
Gabriel leans back and exhales. He feels the tension leave his body. Better a hit-and-run than a murder.
‘Indeed,’ Grell says. ‘It actually did take less than five minutes. But I have to disappoint you. No report to be found. No accident. Nothing.’
‘What?’ Gabriel stares at the commissioner in disbelief. ‘And why do you think my wing looks like a piece of scrap?’
‘That could’ve happened a long time ago.’ Grell’s smile congeals into a cynical grimace. ‘An accident that does not exist. A fairy-tale dress that simply disappears. Doors that close themselves . . . to be quite honest, either you’re having hallucinations or you’re making fun of me, my friend.’
Gabriel’s eyes flicker for a moment. ‘I don’t know what this is,’ he finally says softly, but I can’t shake the feeling that you want to pin it all on me.’
‘Pin it on you? You came in here with your cock and bull story. Not to mention resisting authority . . . Just reading your file, there’s no question about it. And quite frankly, with all this rubbish you’re telling us here, I’m not even sure any more if you should be locked away in a normal cell.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Gabriel asks flatly, although he knows very well what Grell is getting at.
‘It was a bit of an effort finding someone who still remembers you. After all, it was twenty years ago. The only member of staff that I could find from back then who still practises is Dr Armin Dressler.’
Gabriel’s whole body stiffens.
Grell’s dark, lifeless eyes bore ruthlessly into his own. ‘He was immediately willing to give up some of his time to take a look at you again. Tomorrow morning around seven, before going to work, he’ll be here. Then we’ll see.’
Instantly, like a Pavlovian reflex, Gabriel is dizzy and his hands begin to tremble.
Didn’t I tell you, Luke, the voice howls. Never lose control. Never.
Chapter 17
Nowhere – 2 September
Liz is wrapped in cotton that must be a metre thick. It absorbs everything but a few faint sounds. Her nose is thick and swollen on her face. She is hooked up to wires and tubes.
Her senses are numb, frozen.
She knows that she has eyes. She has tried to open them, but it’s like they’re sewn shut. She can see images flit past like momentary flashes on the backs of her eyelids.
Like the steel arm that strangled her. She tries to reach for a shiny white phone, but always grabs at the nothingness that surrounds her. A heavy boot coming down on her face, getting closer, getting larger. She knows that it hurts when the boot reaches her face, but she feels nothing. She doesn’t even feel her stomach where her child should be.
And suddenly she feels something.
Something warm, exactly over the area where her eyes should be. All of her senses, her entire body focuses on the source of the warmth, concentrates on this single point, like a lost diver being saved by the beam of light leading the way up and out of the darkness at the bottom of the lake.
Suddenly, she knows what it is: a hand. A hand on her forehead.
She can hear something beeping as quietly as a whisper. She can hear something rustling. She gets cold and feels metal around her body.
Her skin flinches and then the sheet rustles back over her.
Now. Liz summons all of her strength for this little bit of movement. Her eyelids flutter.
‘Ssshhh,’ she hears a woman’s voice.
Liz pushes her lids apart. The light explodes in her eyes. She has to blink immediately. A shadowy figure is silhouetted against a light wall. Her light-coloured hospital gown and shoulder-length blond hair make her seem almost invisible in the white room. Her gaze rests on a video monitor with graphs and figures that is beeping right beside her bed.
Thank god! A hospital.
The nurse looks at her. ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ Her voice sounds rough and strangely sad.
Liz nods. Where am I? she wants to ask, but the tube in her throat prevents her from speaking.
The nurse smiles. A joyless smile, but a smile. ‘You had to be ventilated. That’s why there’s a tube in your throat.’
Liz nods again.
Her pupils slowly get accustomed to the light. Now the room looks darker to her. Her eyes scan the space and the walls. No windows, no flowers, no other bed. Still, at least they put her in a private room. She avoids hospitals like the plague, but she would hate it more if she had to be share her room with other people. The constant visitors, strange snoring, strange coughing . . . thank you, Gabriel.
But where is he? Where is Gabriel?
She tries to turn a little to the right – towards the door. A sharp pain at the top of her ribs stops her. Suddenly, she is frightened to the core. The baby! What happened to the baby?
She strains to lift her right hand and feel her stomach. The needle presses into her arm.
‘I think the baby is all right,’ the nurse says flatly. Her grey eyes rest on Liz’s stomach.
Thank god! But why does her ‘all right’ sound like nothing is right?
‘He will be here soon, he just has to make some calls,’ the nurse whispers.
‘Just don’t move around, that would be best.’
Don’t move around? Liz almos
t has to laugh. It’s not like she could anyway. But why is the nurse whispering? And who is coming? Gabriel? The doctor?
Exhausted, she closes her eyes and slowly dozes off.
Chapter 18
Berlin – 2 September, 12.59 p.m.
‘We can’t park here, you have to go back. The visitor car park was full –’
Shona abruptly hits the brakes and spins the steering wheel to the left. ‘That’s why,’ she says, steering the car over the high kerb and onto the landscaped lawn between two young trees, ‘I have a jeep.’
The diesel engine of the ocean-blue Defender stops with a gurgle. ‘You all right? Want to go in alone?’
David looks through the windscreen directly at the three-storey brick building. Vivantes Hospital Friedrichshain. It makes him anxious. Then he sighs and tenses his shoulders. ‘If you’d like, you’re welcome to come.’
He gets out and swings the passenger door to Shona’s Land Rover shut. A cold gust of wind sweeps across the car roof, blowing dust in his face.
‘So, tell me, have I understood correctly?’ Shona asks and comes around the angular front bonnet of the car. ‘It has to do with Liz Anders? The Liz Anders?’
David looks surprised. ‘You know her?’
‘Well, you can hardly avoid the name if you work in television. Ms Journalism. The Fire Alarm. What happened to her?’
‘Apparently she was attacked,’ David says, and speeds up his pace. The sky is grey above the hospital. The wide glass doors throw their reflection back at them and slide open with a soft hiss. The lobby is huge and white like a glacier. It smells of floor wax and sterility. He wishes he could turn around and leave. Hospitals and clinics of any kind still give him the same feeling as back then. Even though he had only been seven years old, every detail was seared into his brain, from the nurse’s nametag to the burnt smell of his pyjamas that he never wanted to take off under any circumstances.
He blinks for a second and the smell leaves his head. There is a long beechwood counter with a mountain of a man sitting atop his throne behind it. David moves directly towards him.
‘And what does all of this have to do with you?’ Shona asks.
‘With me, nothing. It’s my brother. Apparently Liz Anders is my brother’s girlfriend.’
‘So you’re a proper television family. Do your parents also work at the station?’
David’s face darkens. ‘My parents are dead.’
‘Oh . . . I’m sorry,’ Shona says. ‘I had no idea.’
‘It’s OK.’ He presses his lips together. Nothing is OK. Suddenly, everything is back. The images swirl around him, more vivid than they’d been in years. The fresh flowing blood, the two bodies, the smoke burning his eyes and the stench. He hears a muffled hammering echoing from the cellar. Gabriel becomes fixated by his hand. I need to get out of here. His short, thin fingers are ice cold and slippery, he’s wearing his favourite pyjamas with Luke Skywalker on the front, the same ones that Gabriel had, too – just a few sizes smaller. Mum lies there, dark gaping craters in her head and chest, her bright eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, her limbs strangely twisted – like Father’s, who is floating on a large, dark-red puddle. Everything is heavy and being pulled downwards as if there were quicksand below. Gabriel screams and pulls him closer, but he –
‘Can I help you?’ an exasperated voice asks. David shakes off the memories. The attendant sits in front of him and stares back, black pupils like pinpricks against his pale face.
‘Uh, yes. Excuse me, we’re looking for a Ms Liz Anders. Is she here?’
‘The man squints. ‘Anders? I’ve heard the name before, hang on.’ He looks at his screen and types the word into a search box.
‘She was attacked last night and was probably brought here.’
‘Mhm,’ the attendant grumbles and types something else in the search box.
‘So where is she?’
‘Well, not here in any case.’
‘She isn’t here? Are you sure?’
‘If I say she isn’t here, then she isn’t here.’
‘Any idea of where she could’ve been taken?’
‘Nah. No idea at all.’
‘Excuse me,’ Shona says and leans just far enough over the counter so that her cleavage is right at the attendant’s eye line. ‘Tell me, the emergency call centre, wouldn’t they know?’
The attendant looks at Shona, then his eyes shift back and forth to the edges of her loosely buttoned shirt. ‘Uh, well, yes.’
‘Do you think you could,’ she makes the shape of a phone with her right hand, ‘perhaps ring them up for us?’
‘Listen, I . . . uh.’ His pupils dart up and drift back down. ‘Just a moment please.’ As if he were being controlled by a remote somewhere, he reaches for the handset and presses one of the in-house speed dial buttons. He unsuccessfully tries to change his line of sight. ‘Helmut? – yeah, it’s me. Listen, have you heard anything about a Liz Anders? She was attacked last night in Friedrichshain . . . Yeah, I’m sure . . . I don’t know either . . . Nothing? And no one from Friedrichshain either? . . . Are you absolutely sure?’
‘She has red hair, is in her mid-thirties,’ David says.
‘Red hair, I’m being told, around thirty-five . . . No? . . . Strange . . . the police? Yeah, good idea, I’ll try.’ The attendant looks up at Shona, covering the mouthpiece and softly says: ‘He’s asking the police. It’ll take a minute.’
Shona nods and drums her fingers on the counter. David sighs. His eyes wander through the lobby and he’s annoyed that he came here. He probably could’ve accomplished the same with a telephone call. ‘What?’ the attendant blurts into the phone.
David and Shona stiffen.
‘I see . . . just the man . . . Yes. Yes. It’s OK. Thanks.’ He hangs up and shrugs. ‘I’m sorry. You heard it – no Liz Anders. Not yesterday and not today. And also no anonymous attack victim, or no woman at least. There was a call to the police about a woman being attacked last night in Friedrichshain . . . but all that was found was a male body.’
‘A male body?’ David asks. He immediately thinks of the police officer and Gabriel, who is currently in custody.
‘Well, not a woman in any case. No trace of a woman.’
‘Oh, OK,’ David nods.
‘Thanks anyway.’ But of course, David thinks. How could it be any other way? Gabriel is just Gabriel.
‘Maybe we can ask again in the emergency department,’ Shona suggests.
David makes a face. ‘Leave it. Maybe we don’t need to do that at all.’
Shona looks at him, surprised.
David ignores her look. ‘My stomach is doing backflips. All the coffee this morning . . . let’s just see if there’s something edible in the canteen here.’
‘Fine with me,’ Shona says.
They walk towards the canteen without talking. Already in his first few steps, David suspects that he won’t be able to get a single mouthful down, despite his hunger.
As soon as Gabriel turns up, everything starts falling apart. What’s this all about? The sudden call from jail, the alleged attack, the dead man in the park?
‘Hey! Hello!’ a voice calls after them. ‘Wait a minute!’
David turns around. The portly attendant waves to him with a brown envelope in his hand. I just found something.’
David goes back to the counter. The attendant waves the envelope. ‘I knew I recognised the name from somewhere. Someone else at the hospital must have left this,’ he says, handing David the envelope. ‘Are you Gabriel Naumann?’
‘No,’ David says, confused. ‘I’m his brother.’
‘Well, that should do. The main thing is that I’m rid of it.’
David mechanically takes the brown envelope. It’s padded, thick and about as big as a newspaper. In scrawled red handwriting on the outside it says:
Urgent! For Gabriel Naumann
From Liz Anders.
Confuse
d, he turns the envelope over. Nothing. ‘Will you give it to your brother?’
David nods. ‘Yes, sure. Thank you.’ Shaking his head, he goes back through the lobby to Shona.
‘What is that?’ she asks.
David shrugs. ‘From Liz for Gabriel. No idea.’
‘From Liz? I thought she’d been attacked? Or do you think she left that here before the attack?’
‘That doesn’t make much sense, does it?’ David says. ‘Why would she have assumed before the attack that Gabriel would march into this particular hospital to enquire after her?’
‘Right. It sounds strange. Or else she wasn’t attacked at all and just wanted Gabriel to come here and pick up the packet?’
David silently looks at the envelope in his hand.
‘Are you going to open it?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He turns the envelope and looks at the back, but it’s blank. ‘Most things to do with Gabriel mean trouble.’
‘Well, if you still have to think about it . . . then let’s try out this great cafeteria in the meantime.’
The canteen is as soulless as the entrance hall. Shadowless light, potted plants that look anything but healthy and the people, who look even less so.
David mechanically sits on a thinly padded chair, puts the envelope on the Formica table in front of him and sinks into his thoughts while Shona pulls together a bit of unappetising salad, two sandwiches on baguettes and two Diet Cokes at the counter.
‘Are you back in the land of the living?’
‘Huh?’
‘Never mind. Help yourself if you’re hungry.’ She puts the scuffed orange tray on the table and sits across from David.
‘Sorry,’ David says, ‘it’s all really . . .’
‘Strange?’ Shona adds, tilting her head to the side.
David tries to smile, but doesn’t quite succeed.
‘I don’t mean to be nosy,’ Shona says and pushes a huge forkful of lettuce into her mouth, ‘but sometimes it helps to talk about it . . .’
‘Are you offering me therapy?’
