Living Among Wasps
Page 6
stairs. Then she brought the fur inside the empty apartment.”
“And both of them participated in the killing too, I assume?”
“The killer was Ralf, the friendly neighbour. Sure, she could have secretly been a lesbian and have had an affair with another floor’s inhabitant, but I’ll leave such a scenario to fiction writers. This much should be obvious since he is the only other male living on the floor besides the husband. And we established that the murder happened because of an affair with someone close by. That much should be clear. They seemed to get along well, don’t you think? Why tell about your marriage problems to man that lives next door, but, at the same time, avoid the topic with the neighbour’s wife? This is exactly why. Besides, both of their significant others were often away from home for long periods of time. That is how they grew closer together. It must have started off with some flirtatious chat on their way, then a good business idea, and ended up in bed. Mostly in Ralf’s, I gather, since on the day of the murder the victim’s apartment was in neat order, despite her messy and oblivious way of living, and the husband out of town. That means nobody had actually lived there while the husband was gone. The fact that she forgot to tend the teacher’s pet rang my bells on her untidiness. . I can’t see how the husband, or the teacher can fit into this scheme since the husband was in shock after his wife’s death, but did not provide anything about the others. But the victim could not stand the teacher. There you have it. I believe I have covered everything, now it’s your turn to bring the people to the neat, little, concrete homes next to mine.”
I waited for her to catch up with her notes before going on.
“The rest goes as I already said. Ralf fell in love, wanted the victim to ditch her husband, she refused and he killed her in fury. Then he tried to blame the poor, unsuspecting husband.”
I crossed my arms in satisfaction.
“Put enough pressure on Ralf, and expect him to break. Or no! Rather, try the wife! I doubt she likes the idea of her husband loving someone else, if she knows about it at all. Yes, tell her about Ralf and see what she does.” I suggested.
I was done with my little investigation, and looked at Rebecca while she finished jotting down her notes. I expected some sort of a gratitude and appreciation from her, but I ended up with a lousy ‘thanks’ and a quick dash to the police station so that she could catch the culprits. Suddenly I again felt bored and useless – two feelings I had forgotten during these last days of investigating a case.
Two days later the news agencies were stormed with a story of the heavyweight drug-dealing couple, who had killed their accomplice and tried to put the blame on the victim’s husband. Full details were not yet revealed to the press since the court process had only just begun. There was also no acknowledgement of anyone helping the police force with the murder, what I partially expected, yet silently, and utterly vainly, hoped that my name could pop out at some point when gratitude and praise was distributed in press conferences.
A week after the conclusion of the case, I received a letter. At first I thought that it was from yet another journalist, or amateur author, who hopes to break through by gaining my sympathies and getting my full life story for their book or article. Nobody else writes me, so I automatically toss them in the bin. Luckily, though, I first glanced at the sender’s name – it was from Rebecca. It was mere twenty lines long, but by the end of it I couldn’t help but smile. It read as follows:
“Albert, thank you! The last time we spoke, I stormed away without really saying how much I appreciate what you have done, and I owe you big time. I hope you understand the reasons why your name was not mentioned in regard to the case – the general public might not understand it, and you would be drawn into court processes, which I know you loathe. Anyway, doesn’t doing good make you, yourself, feel better? I think it does.
You got almost everything right. Ralf, really, did have an affair with the victim, and his wife had no idea. She burst out in rage, when we told her and gladly explained that her man had left their apartment at the time of the murder, but claimed that he heard the victim argue with her husband, and quickly came back in, unspotted. She couldn’t confirm whether that was after the husband went downstairs, but believed what Ralf had said until now. We promised her a greatly reduced sentence for cooperation. The murderer then cracked as well. The business was the victim’s idea because of her money problems, and Ralf, actually, was the last one on board. I think he did it because he was already drawn to the other woman. His affection grew deeper with time, but he wasn’t ready to leave Alice. The day before she was killed, Amanda had talked about leaving her husband, and threatened to tell Alice. This had made Ralf anxious, so he never went too far from his peephole after Richard came home. After the murderer saw the husband storm out, he thought she had told him everything, and went to the apartment to talk. There he found out she wanted to talk to Ralf’s wife first, and do that before Alice left again for work. At that point Ralf claims he snapped, and does not remember much more until the victim was already dead. That’s the part you got wrong.
By the way, Boris is right next to me, munching a carrot – he still loves them. We spent the whole day by a lake and the dirty impression of a paw that I am about to have him put on this letter, comes from the joys of the day. That’s how he sends his greetings, and I second him.
Sincerely,
Rebecca (with Boris)”
The next time I heard from her was two months later, when she asked me to look at a grocery store robbery, where the cashier was barely saved from death, but was still in coma. They suspected the local adolescent gang, and I, promptly, helped the police to prove their guilt. It was then that I realised this – me helping out the law – could be that piece I desperately needed in my life’s jigsaw puzzle. And the motivation to write down my experiences now.