by Tanja Pleva
Picasso: Hello? Are you still there?
Sunshine: Yes. I am tired. Let us chat tomorrow again.
Picasso: I am going mad from never seeing your eyes, never smelling you or seeing your movements, hearing you talk. I'm freaking out.
Sunshine: Till tomorrow.
Sunshine has left the chat.
The man sounded desperate and hungry for love.
'Is this the only file?' Sam rubbed his eyes that slightly hurt again from his struggle to read the small characters. He would have to give in and get used to carrying his reading glasses somewhere near him.
'So far I couldn't find any other.' Juri was still clicking through the set of files.
'OK, this one-month-old chat tells us only that there was somebody. But she didn't want to meet him, which might support the statement of Nicki Hörner.'
'But perhaps she did meet him in the meantime and just didn't tell her friends', said Juri.
'Yes, that might be possible. Did I tell you already that he might come from Hamburg? This would limit the target area.'
Sam had to laugh about his own remark while drawing large circles on a sheet of paper. Moving his hand kept him from closing his eyes and just falling asleep.
'That's very nice and easy, finding a guy with the name Picasso in Hamburg.'
'I thought so.' Sam suppressed a yawn. 'Why did she save just this one file?'
Juri shrugged. 'Maybe she forgot to delete it. No idea. Or maybe I will locate the other chats somehow as well.'
He watched Sam's circles which turned ever darker the more turns he made with his ballpoint pen.
This Picasso guy had hoped to find his true love. Sam himself had once thought to have found it and let it go again. He would take a lot of time until he would let another person step into his life again.
'Maybe they met and as she found him pretty ugly, according to Nicki Hörner, she rebuked him or even insulted him, and he, deeply hurt, took revenge on her. Maybe there are other similar cases. Reports because of harassment or the like following an Internet contact. We should also check the databases again.'
'And for taking revenge he followed her straight to Barcelona? That's bullshit. Moreover, it would then have been murder in the heat of passion. This one had been planned long ago. No, for now, everything is still in the dark, Shorty. It is also very well possible that somebody killed Ms. Rewe out of a strange impulse. Then there was no murderer-to-victim relationship at all and no real motive … the nightmare of any investigator.' Sam rubbed his eyes and yawned again. 'I am tired, let's finish for today.'
The computer screen cast a bluish light on Juri's young face. He nodded and shut down the laptop.
'It doesn't tell where that chat was from, does it?'
'Are you aware of how many chat rooms there are?'
Sam shook his head and pulled a quilted jacket on which Juri had lent him. 'I am aware. Hundreds and thousands of them. But maybe we might browse the most popular lonely heart sites. And then, we should ask in that café in Eppendorf whether the guy with the cap left any lasting impression there with the staff. If we are lucky, he paid by credit card.'
'That would be nice. Tomorrow I will subscribe to some of the most popular sites and upload the loveliest picture of my sister.'
'You have a sister?'
'I have one. She is living in Siberia.'
Sam wondered if Juri had made a joke, but he did not flinch.
He had to admit that he did not know much about his partner and that embarrassed him a bit. After all they were working together and that should oblige him to show a bit more interest. Only that now he was too tired for that. There would certainly be many other opportunities to discover Juri's background. Sam said goodbye and drove to his hotel in the city center.
The temperatures had dropped below zero. It was bloody cold and after a long time a desire arose to feel warm sun on his skin and to smell the sea.
Once in the hotel room he lay down fully clothed on his bed and tried to shut down his mind. This two-liner kept looping in his brain. That scrap was the only item that made no sense in all of the case and he had no idea where to fit it into the overall image. He took the files from the bedside table and opened them.
Jasmin Rewe had entered the lobby at about 2:27 p.m. to get to the elevator. At 2:40 p.m. she had left her message on Nicki Hörner's mailbox. This indicated that she must have been alone then. But now Sam got the feeling that they were on a completely wrong track.
He put the files aside, turned on his back and closed his eyes.
Red, yellow and brown spots were dancing wildly in his inner vision until he opened his eyelids again. Directing his gaze to the dark ceiling, he saw a phrase taking shape in bright red letters.
Sam closed his eyes again and tried to distract himself by thinking of Lina. That provoked pain. This pain was like a wild beast that was caught in his body and furiously romped about. It demanded to be set free. For two weeks he had now been in psychiatric care. He had hoped to get rid of that by talking about it, but still the pain was so profound that he could sometimes hardly breathe. He had always mastered the suppression of feelings. Any injury to his soul he had either swallowed or buried deeply in the bottomless abyss of his subconscious. Now it came gushing out, like garbage from an overloaded container.
He had considered himself a solid pillar, a support for his sister Lily, his environment, even for himself. He did not tolerate any weakness; his colleagues considered him sturdy, quiescent and well balanced.
After Lina's death he had lost all ground beneath his feet and he had become aware that he was not infallible. He opened his eyes again and could still see that phrase on the ceiling. 'He will kill again.’
Sam plugged the earphones of his iPod into his ears and took a picture of Lina from his inside pocket. He looked at it once, put it on his belly and listened to the calm sounds of a piano concert by Chopin, until ten minutes later the image of her face accompanied him into his dream.
10.
Colombia Aleida Betancourt groaned aloud. The pain was unbearable. She prayed to God to deliver her from it.
She had always been in good shape, until one week ago, when the pain in her back had become intolerable. Thorough examination had revealed a tumor the size of an orange in her lung and surgery had followed two days later. Since the day before she had been lying in the intensive care unit and she was able to perceive how the spirits departed from her body. Doom was drawing near. She could also tell from the eyes of her visitor, Lea, who was sitting at her bed smiling and trying to suppress her tears.
Aleida's life passed her mind: a busy and devout life, she had never complained about it. She had regularly attended church, had confessed her little sins and said a rosary for her salvation. Now Paradise was opening wide.
She looked once more at Lea, who now let her tears run free. This family had been her life. She had served them for more than forty years, knowing all their private secrets and never saying a word about them. Most of them would have broken all the necks of this well-esteemed House, but she would not be their agent; that was reserved for a Higher Justice. And Aleida firmly believed in that.
When she had been fourteen years old, Diego Rodriguez had bought her from her parents and added her to his household as a maid.
Now Lea Rodriguez grabbed her hand and squeezed it firmly.
Among the five children whom she had watched grow up, Lea was her favorite, the one who was closest to her heart. Pretty little Lea, with her ash-blond hair and those greenish-blue, almost turquoise eyes. She was the precious one of the family, its special gem.
Aleida's eyelids closed, a sob wound its way to her ears. Don't cry, little Lea, she thought, all will turn out well.
Once again she tried to open her eyes. She wanted, indeed must entrust Lea with one more secret, one that only she and her sister knew about, the awful shadow that was haunting the House of Rodriguez. It was time to drag it out into the light.
Pain pierced
her again, depriving her of the power to talk.
Now Lea was uncontrollably crying.
Aleida tried to comfort her, but her strength failed her.
Steps approached her bed. A nurse said it was time to go.
Her heart tossed about, as if it wanted to cry out, No, wait, there is something else that you have to know, but she could not speak aloud as pain pushed her back and silenced her.
Aleida Betancourt made her last breath that night and took with her into her grave that awful secret of the House of Rodriguez which was unknown even to its members, for she had locked it away in her heart for so many years. Now, after twenty seven years had passed, it would have to escape, alone, on winding ways, out of the Dark.
11.
Paris Katarin was on cloud nine. Five minutes she had now spent observing the hands of the white-golden Chopard watch that she had received from Harry, pondering what to do till early evening. Harry had left to attend the conference, but he had laid money on the table to be used for having a good time. She might just grant herself a massage and a facial treatment.
Katarin stretched her leg upwards and considered her toenails. She could also have these painted.
She just wanted to reach for the phone to call the spa, when there was a knock at the door and it was opening. A cleaning trolley was pushed into the room. Katarin wanted to protest but the maid had already disappeared into the bathroom. Worse, Katarin did not even speak French.
What the heck she thought and called the spa. 'Hello? I would like to get an appointment for a massage … Only tomorrow available? … No, no thanks.'
She hung up in disappointment and peeped around the corner into the sitting room. The trolley was standing right outside the door, the maid was nowhere. She heard a rattle from the bathroom. But it had already been cleaned this morning, Katarin wondered while returning to the bed.
So how was she supposed to spend the day then? She switched the TV-set on and zapped through the channels when suddenly someone appeared beside her bed.
Katarin stared back at this strange individual who was looking down at her. The uniform did not fit and then the face…
'Bonjour, Madame.' The maid put her leather suitcase on the bedside table.
12.
Hamburg For once, Sam began this day not as usual. Early in the morning he jumped into the pool that belonged to the Olympus Spa Hotel and he swam thirty times across the twenty-five yards of its length. This was his very first sportive activity within the recent months. His condition had severely worsened and he was aware that he needed more effort to get back into shape than when he had been twenty.
When he re-emerged after the last round and took off the swimming glasses, Juri crouched smiling on the stairs to the Jacuzzi.
'Are those glasses reinforced?'
Sam got out of the water, reached for his towel and flung it against Juri's leg. 'So you escaped again from a one night stand?'
'I thought we might have breakfast together.'
'I will just get ready. Wait in the restaurant for me.'
Sam slipped into a bathrobe and took the elevator up to his room.
His partner was as alone and lonely as he himself was, thought Sam, otherwise he would not want to share a morning cocoa with him. He was convinced that Juri was also longing for warmth, for sense of belonging and love, but commitment-phobia and fear of lifelong responsibility covered that as if with a thick black brush-stroke. For those reasons Juri was content with casual acquaintances and Sam, if at all, with short love-affairs that sometimes came to nothing and sometimes, as with Lina, to death.
His relationship with Lina might perhaps have sooner or later faltered, like those of many other pairs that he was acquainted with. First there was happiness, love and children. After years, the hell of marriage would widely gape, mutual insults would start and the person once beloved was finally despised. He did not consider that desirable.
Juri had already ordered cocoa for himself and coffee for Sam when he sat down at the table. Like an old married couple he thought, broadly smiling.
'Why do you laugh?' asked Juri curiously.
'I'm glad to see you, that's all.'
'Nice. I couldn't sleep last night, and so I surfed the Internet. Couldn't find Picasso yet, but our Desperate Housewife, the late Ms. Rewe, was subscribed to several sites at once, without committing to a lot of activity there.'
'Meaning that Picasso doesn't need to be our culprit at all. But we will know that, latest, when we get his photograph and can compare it to the man in the lobby.'
They ordered each a Bircher muesli, a fruit plate and freshly squeezed orange juice. For the first time since long ago, Sam felt somewhat comfortable again.
'When did research actually get tied to limitless grief?' Juri stopped eating and looked at Sam.
This very question he had been asking himself this morning after getting up and he defined, for himself, the concept of research. Research that meant searching for knowledge which was gained by scientific operations. 'Carrying out scientific operations on living beings will bring a lot of grief, don't you agree? I was wondering already whether somebody might have fallen victim to a transplant. This at least might help to explain those terms, Spender and Empfänger, donator and receiver.'
'But Dr. Rewe does not do transplants.'
'Maybe somebody in his family came by a donator's organ the illegal way' Juri mused.
They parted after breakfast.
Juri headed for Eppendorf to visit the breakfast café, but Sam went straight to the police station and made a few telephone calls. One of them to Munich, to his colleague Peter Bauer, whom he routinely asked to look for specific evidence in the System and of course for comparative cases, although he knew that Brenner was already quite intensively committed to that task. Better safe than sorry, Sam told himself. Then next he dialed the number of the alleged dominatrix from Barcelona, whom Dr. Rewe was using as his alibi.
The doctor had claimed to possess only a calling card of this woman, gotten years ago in a bar. Only a name and a number were written on the card. As for the question of how he had found the mysterious lady without knowing her address, he had stated to have called there, jotted down the address and given it to a taxi driver.
A female voice answered at last. She sounded young and cheerful; Sam was initially slightly unsettled, for he had expected a smoky and daring voice.
'Saida?'
'Con quien?'
According to Dr. Rewe, Saida spoke four languages fluently, including even Japanese and she specialized in international customers.
'I got your number from a friend … Dennis Rewe.'
A short hesitation. 'Yes? And what can I do for you?'
'He has troubles and …'
'I never provide information. About nobody.'
'Not even in a case of murder? My name is Sam O'Connor, Europol.'
He heard the woman slowly exhaling at the other end of the line. 'Murder?', she asked carefully.
Finally she confirmed that Dennis Rewe had been with her between four and six o'clock. For years he had been her good customer. Instead of booking one hour, as was custom, he always reserved two hours at once and on aforesaid Friday he had messed up her schedule and came sooner, because of his wife.
'Is it possible that your client lost a cufflink at your place? A golden one, with a blue stone?'
'Indeed, I found one like that in the kidney dish.'
Sam tried to imagine how this woman had all the hospital equipment at her disposal, to prepare an unforgettable experience for her customers.
'I didn't know whose it was. If you want to have it, you may get it from me.' Now her voice assumed a seductive tone.
Sam laughed and asked her simply to keep this button for the time being.
This excluded Dr. Rewe from the list of suspects.
Sam now had the photo of the man who had followed Jasmin Rewe into the hotel - the man with whom she only chatted, according to Nicki Hörner and w
hom she never met. Yet, if she had wanted to disrupt this contact, she would hardly have told him about any plans to go to Barcelona.
Juri called from the café just then. The waitress remembered the man with the cap very well because he had been sweating a lot, drunk only one cappuccino within three hours and had not given a tip. She had recognized him in the photo from the lobby.
This explained how the fellow had known that the Rewes would travel to Barcelona and at which hotel they were going to stay.
'I spoke already again to Dr. Rewe. Nobody in his family ever had a health problem, not to mention an organ transplant. Our most questionable suspicions and theories once more fascinated him, as he preferred to call it. But I hung up before he could turn ad hominem against me.'
Sam felt that Juri might be grinning.
'I will join you soon, go on checking the dating websites. Unfortunately many of them would not provide images; they are just luring with salaries and occupations. That's where the riffraff can get nicely in touch with the upper crust.'
Sam had again the feeling that he had had the evening before. They were digging at the wrong place. And as if he had anticipated it, his mobile phone rang and all their clever musings, theories and hypotheses concerning the Jasmin Rewe case came to a full stop.
1952
Argentina Heinrich examined and cleaned the inflamed appendix scar that was discharging matter, while the little boy was bouncing about in pyretotyphosis.
In his back, the farm-wife was complaining and the farmer watched any movement of his hand with suspicion. Heinrich evaded this gaze and packed up his belongings. There was not much left to do. This boy would not survive the night.
'That's your fault!' The farmer pushed Heinrich against the wall. 'You are a quack! If my son should die, then you better crave for God's mercy!'
Heinrich escaped from the farmer's grip and rushed down the stairs and out of the house. His trembling hands untied the horse; he jumped into the saddle and galloped off.
