by Tanja Pleva
The Miltonia orchid also came from Colombia, Sam remembered. 'About what year did that happen?'
'That I can tell you precisely. I kept those letters in spite of everything.' She bent down to a small light-brown leather suitcase and pulled it out from beneath the shelf without taking the dog from her lap.
The suitcase contained piles of letters and other papers. She took a folded paper out and read aloud.
'Heinrich Thiel died from severe malaria at 10:30 a. m. on the date, 3rd of March, 1963, in the Clinica Javier Ruiz in Bogotá. Do you speak Spanish?'
Sam nodded and Doris Thiel handed him the death certificate so that he might see for himself.
'Why do you think that your father was on the run?' asked Juri.
'I guess that was because of the tattoo beneath his arm. The SS rune. I learned a little more about that later. After the War, the Americans were looking for this special tattoo among the Germans and imprisoned war criminals in camps. My father, obviously a Nazi, escaped with the help of an Italian bishop who procured documents and visa for Argentina. I learned that later from my grandfather.'
Wasn't that the second time that someone had mentioned Nazis? L'Inspecteur Germain had referred to those injections into the heart. And yet that made no sense at all.
'You aren't a doctor, are you?' Sam had quickly browsed the titles on the bookshelves. There were mostly only novels, no specialist books for doctors.
'Heavens, no!' She laughed for the first time again. 'After watching all those people dying beneath my father's hands, I thought it would be preferable to stay away from that profession.'
'How do you mean, all those people dying?' Juri asked curiously.
'From infections, mind you. I hardly remember that, though. I was still a child, you know. But I do remember how often we attended burials. All patients of my father.'
'What kind of doctor was your father?'
'He was mainly working as a gynecologist, but also he operated on appendices … somehow he did everything.'
A loud crack in Juri's mouth ended the short silence. At last he had managed to bite through his pen.
Sam noticed the strain in Juri's face. But he felt as tense and confused. Could this imply that the next victim would lose her uterus to the murderer? And who would be said next victim? Doris Thiel, one of the last survivors?
They briefly told her about the other cases and that she presumably was in danger, too.
Doris Thiel did not seem to mind. She stayed sure that nobody would do her any harm.
'The employee with the rounded belly. Was she pregnant or else …?'
'Presumably she was.'
'From your…'
'Yes, she was fooling around with my father. So I think that she was pregnant by him.'
'Do you have her name … or something that could help us to find her?'
'If she is still alive, she will certainly be still in Lanusse. She was a simple country girl and just six years older than I was. Her name was Julietta that's all I know.'
As Doris Thiel said goodbye to the officers, she pushed the letter into Sam's hand, which she had also just taken from the suitcase.
In the early afternoon, Sam flew with lots of data but little perspective to Malaga.
Although he immersed himself ever deeper into cases, his view was even more obscured rather than clearing up. As if somebody was blindfolding him.
1963
Bogotá The sign at the entrance of the two story white building read, Casa del Desválido. Literally translated, it was the Home of the Unworthy One, but commonly it was called the Home of the Immobile Ones.
It was the first home for mental and severely physically disabled people that had been founded in Bogotá, if not in entire Colombia. The house had been built from donations of rich Colombians who had trusted the likeable doctor from overseas.
All the founders, co-founders and doctors gathered into a group to be photographed for the press. This project was most appealing to the president of the country, who himself had a disabled man in his family and was glad to see his relative coming into good German care.
Heinrich personally welcomed the president and led him and his entire family through the sections of the home.
Aurelia, the president's youngest daughter, attracted the attention of the whole staff. She was about twenty and delicate, almost fragile. But what was most special about her: She had long blond hair, green cattish eyes and her pearly white skin seemed to radiate.
For Heinrich, it was love at first sight, being certain that Aurelia was a direct descendant of the original Aryans whom Himmler had thought to find in Spain. As it turned out, the family of Valencia had indeed Spanish ancestors.
One week after visiting the home, Heinrich was invited to a party at the house of the president.
Aurelia swaggered in a green dress among the guests and did not let him out of her sight for a moment, yet avoided approaching him. Whenever their eyes met, she gave him only a charming smile.
The invitations came more frequently, and Heinrich became a welcomed guest at the house of the president.
He yearned for Aurelia and because she always kept him at a distance, he immersed himself into work and research at the home.
There he was very cruel and showed no mercy to the defenseless creatures, which were delivered to him and his colleagues. New drugs were tested on them, virus's injected and meaningless secret surgeries carried out, such as shortening of the intestines and amputations of limbs. The staff was changed as often as possible so that no one might notice the extraordinary mortality rate of their patients.
And then came the day when Heinrich removed his bloody gloves and stowed them in a small tin for hazardous waste. There he pricked himself with a needle, which somebody had carelessly thrown into it. It was infected with the pathogen Malaria trópica.
Two weeks later, after strong attacks of fever, unceasing vomiting and sudden renal shutdown, Heinrich had fallen into coma.
32.
Berlin The German capital was a fascinating sight for Lea. Although the hotel was not as spectacular as the others in which they had spent the nights before, but then it was meant to suffice only for two days.
Rafael got a special discount because his family had owned the platinum membership card of the hotel chain for more than twenty years now.
They had had a look at the two hundred-year-old Brandenburg Gate and later strolled along the Kurfürstendamm.
Leila had, after attending the opera in Vienna, already noticed a change in Rafael's behavior. He was not as talkative and affectionate anymore. He did love her, but somehow his heart was not in it.
Something was going on inside him. And it was bad, that much she could clearly see. A few times she had caught him furtively looking at her askance. He must have noticed her spying on his Blackberry.
Leila got the creeps. She was still sure that he would not do any harm to her on this trip. It would be different in Medellin though. She thought again of his other wives.
Her body clenched. Suddenly she fell dizzy, then her eyesight failed and she heard herself falling to the ground like a sack of cement.
Excited voices around her.Rafael, who spoke now in another language. She could not understand him, what was he saying?
At last the darkness dissolved and she found his worried face right above her. 'Hey, honey, are you back now?'
Leila got back on her feet. Lying in front of all those people on the dirty pavement was most irritating.
'Come on, let's return to the hotel. You have to rest. That's certainly because of the pregnancy.'
Or he had mixed something into my breakfast, Leila thought.
The small cluster of people that had gathered around them slowly dissolved. Rafael thanked a few passers-by in German and led her to the next taxi stand. He helped her into the car and told the name of the hotel to the driver.
He spoke no word during the ride, looked out of the window and only held her hand.
She wondered whether she should tell him now what she had found out about him and reassure him that nevertheless she would stay at his side and not betray him. Or whether it was better to pretend being ignorant, as if she had not read the mails at all?
From the hotel room, he called room service and ordered a meal.
'This trip is too hard for you. I should have thought of your condition', he said reproachfully, rather to himself than to her.
'It's passed. I'm feeling well again. Don't worry.'
He covered her and walked to the window. 'I still have something to do today, then we will return home. I'll cancel the rest of the trip.'
'But …'
'There is no but', he strictly said.
Leila winced. He had never spoken to her with this voice before.
Rafael looked at the watch and then he went off into the bathroom.
She heard him filling the tub. Yes, maybe it was better to go home. She would annul the marriage and report him anonymously to the public prosecutor's office. Maybe it was wise to send an e-mail to Arturo Castillo, the man who had been investigating into the family of Rodriguez for many years. Later, when he left to meet his appointment, she thought.
The bed was soft and her head lay heavily on the pillows. Leaden tiredness overcame her. Warmth enveloped her and took her away into the realm of dreams.
When Rafael came out of the bathroom, the table and the soup that he had ordered were standing in the middle of the room and Leila slept deeply and soundly. He dressed up, pocketed his Blackberry with a smile and quietly left the hotel room.
33.
The sun reappeared occasionally from behind the clouds and when it disappeared again, dark shadows fell on the streets and houses like evil creeping through the city of Berlin, unstoppable.
They were waiting for him. He had observed the lobby already for a while. They were trying by all means to prepare for what might come, yet they could do nothing to stop him. They were not as silly as he had thought. How did they know that his next victim would be found in Berlin?
Plainclothes policemen pretending to be guests.Just ridiculous. Across from him sat a couple which were not guests. He was a good judge of character. Life had taught him to be. Moreover, the woman's jacket sat badly and the bulge could be seen where she carried her weapon. Behind the counter stood a man who also pretended to belong to the staff. But he was just too obvious. His eyes were restless and he had not addressed a single guest who wanted to check in. He was actually only in the way. Jerk. The porter looked suspicious, too. He had eye contact with the others and he wore a mike in his ear.
He wondered how severely the floors were secured.
Carefully he folded his newspaper and went to the elevators. It was time. He could hardly wait to see her eyes as she took her last breath. She and her child, which the bitch carried within her. His heart began to race, his scalp prickled and he felt hot. He could have jumped for joy. Everything seemed to run as perfectly as before.
He went into his room on the seventh floor and changed.
Leila dwelt on the sixth and the technicians were on the second, installing monitoring cameras. When he had finished her, they would be just on the fourth or fifth floor. The roots of his hair prickled again, a content smile spread over his face.
The cart with towels and cleaning materials rolled across the corridor and stopped in front of room 666. How appropriate this number was. He pulled the card through the slot, then a green lamp and a faint click indicated that the door was open. A last look into the corridor before he disappeared with the cart into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
'Rafa? Is that you?' Leila shouted from the bath.
'Sí!' He grinned, taking his doctor's case out from under a towel and putting it on the table.
'Why are you already back?'
On purpose he did not answer. He wanted to let her wonder for a moment before the great surprise. This mother whore would suffer long. She deserved to.
'Rafa?'
Then came the moment. The bathroom door opened and she appeared before him in bra and panties. Distraughtly she looked at him from top to bottom. It was easy to read her thoughts. Yes, his outfit was a bit odd, but she would get used to it within the next five minutes.
Leila grabbed a towel which lay on the cart to cover herself and began to stammer, 'W … what … is going on?'
Only then she saw the scalpel in his hand. She tried to run back into the bathroom but he was quicker.
He grabbed her long hair and pulled her back. Flung her on the bed and turned her arms on her back. She screamed into the pillow. Babbled incomprehensible words. He gagged her and turned her around so that he could see her eyes. He beat her face a few times until her nose was bleeding.
It was a kind of satisfaction. The same intoxicating feeling that he had had with the others.
His fist beat her harder a few more times and he gloated on her helplessness. Oh yes, he had landed some good ones. Suddenly her jaw was dangling crooked from her face.
She whimpered in pain and begged for mercy. But it would not come.
He presented the scalpel before her eyes, swinging it to and fro like a pendulum, turning it with an examining look. The blade was so reflective that he could see himself in it.
Then he calmly told her his family history. She should know why she had to die on this wonderful and sometimes sunny day in a Berlin hotel. He did not want to send her ignorantly to hell. He was a good man. Who cared about the waste that he removed? They should be glad that there were people like him who played the garbage collector for fine society.
Leila had motionlessly listened and when she realized that her predecessors were his victims as well, she started writhing on the bed like an eel in a plastic tub.
'If you go on thrashing like that, the knife will miss', he grinned at her. Up to now he had always controlled himself. Now he had reached his destination, he could afford a bit of playing.
He started scratching her with the scalpel, just a little, and then he cut deeply through skin and fat.
She did not bother trying to scream into the gag anymore. Tears streamed down her temples.
'Does it hurt?'
She nodded. He split the muscles and rammed the knife into her body.
Leila bent her back, trying to throw him off her legs.
'Well, well, well, you aren't going to annoy me, are you?' He beat her again a few times.
Now the bed was drenched in blood.
'Such a mess! If you had kept lying still, this wouldn't have happened.' He observed her for a moment, their eyes met and then he could not restrain himself anymore. His rage overcame him.
34.
Malaga The lawyer had arranged for picking Sam up at the airport and taking him directly to the office.
José Sanchez Figuera was a distinguished man in his fifties with full black hair. He asked Sam with a swinging gesture to take a seat opposite him and got a large white envelope from a safe in the wall. Then he put on golden-framed reading glasses.
Sam also pulled out his glasses, but only laid them within reach on the table. They were in a small case, neatly folded, one of those which could be cheaply bought at the supermarket. Up to now he had not acquired a real one, still being of the opinion that it was too early for that.
The lawyer opened the envelope with a letter opener that was shaped like a carved dolphin. He carefully pulled out the testament, laid the paper down and looked at Sam over the rim of his glasses.
'Your mother loved you very much.'
Sam looked at the lawyer doubtfully, but abstained from any comment. He had not come here to expose the story of his childhood to this fellow.
'I can imagine that it is difficult for you to accept. But believe me that I know for sure. I saw it in her eyes when she spoke about you.'
Indeed, Sam had trouble believing that. His mother and he had already become estranged when he had been sixteen and they had moved from New York to Germany. He had never f
orgiven her for leaving his father – he, who later was shot in the service of the New York Police Department. She had not even come for the funeral, because she had already booked a vacation with one of her lovers.
The contact completely broke off when he moved into his own flat and Lily, his sister, one day knocked at his door and asked for permission to live with him.
Last year, after almost two decades, she had suddenly appeared in his office and handed him those two albums full of childhood photos, her departure gift. Two months later she had died from cancer. None of her former lovers had been left.
'May I ask you what relationship you had had to my mother …?' Sam paused in the middle of the sentence. How stupid of him to put such a question. 'I didn't see you at the hospital or at the burial. How come?'
'She wanted me to remember her as she was. We said farewell to each other in advance.'
Sam nodded. Of course, for the ugly things in life she had chosen her son, to hold her hand in her last hour.
'Your mother left to you the house at the beach, a flat in Munich, shares in a beauty clinic, a few other shares and some cash.' He pushed the testament to Sam across the table. 'All you need to do is sign down there if you want to accept the inheritance.'
Sam was stunned. 'The house at the beach?'
'You don't know about the house? Have you never visited her there?' The lawyer was obviously surprised.
'We had lost contact with each other for quite a while', said Sam quietly and looked at the total sum, which was written beneath the property.
He blindly felt for his glasses and put them on, to make sure that he had properly read the small digits. No, he had not been wrong. There were indeed five zeros behind an eight. 800,000 Euros, cash? Was this really the sum that he would receive? Plus, plus, plus?
