Raven Sisters (Franza Oberwieser Book 2)

by Gabi Kreslehner

  “Hey,” she said, stopping in surprise. “You? Here? When all good people should still be asleep? I thought I’d be the first in today.”

  He inclined his head. “Sorry to have foiled your good intentions, my dear, but I’ve got some information for you, which might be important. So I thought—”

  “Wonderful,” she said as she opened up the office. “We need everything we can get. Any tiny detail that can move us forward somehow. Should we wait for Felix? He’ll be here soon, knowing him.”

  Borger nodded and sat down. Franza put some coffee on, unpacked her Tupperware box, and got some cups from the cupboard.

  When Herz arrived, he stopped in amazement, framed by the open door.

  “What’s this? A full house already! Borger? You?”

  “I’ve got something for you,” Borger said with a mysterious smile. Then he asked a question, to which both Franza and Herz replied with a resounding “Yes.”

  And then he told them about his interesting discovery, which floored them both.

  61

  Leaping in the sunshine, whirring in the wind, the gentle touch of the droplets, drizzle. I want to catch it all with the camera, capture it in pictures—experiments, trials; we’ll see.

  I’m playing a game. Tomorrow for tomorrow. Waiting for the rain. I’m lying on a blanket on the riverbank, camera at the ready, snapping and snapping, for as long as it takes. Then I put the camera back in its bag and lie flat on my back, surrendering totally. And I wait. For as long as I can bear to. Shirt up over my belly, sleeves pushed up, shoes off, pants off, to offer as much of myself to the rain as possible so it can rain down on me and leave traces on my skin.

  At some point I always have to close my eyes. At some point I get a feeling as if the rain penetrates through my skin and into me, raining into my soul and into my brain. That’s the moment when I have to leave, jump up, put on my clothes, grab the camera, pick up my bike, and return, freezing.

  The girl. My girl. She’s finally here.

  62

  “Gertrud Rabinsky,” Borger asked, to gain himself a little time. “Gertrud Rabinsky had two children, didn’t she?” A brief pause. “A daughter and a son, right?”

  “Yes,” Franza said. “Why?”

  “Yes,” Herz said. “Why?”

  Borger shook his head. “But that isn’t possible.”

  “What?” Franza asked blankly. “What isn’t possible?”

  “That Gertrud Rabinsky has two children,” Borger said slowly. “Or, to put it another way, that Frau Rabinsky gave birth to two children, since”—he looked at the intent faces of the two detectives and continued—“since when little Moritz was born five years ago she was a primipara.”

  “A what?” Herz asked.

  “Primi . . .” Franza thought aloud. “The first, first-time . . .”

  Borger nodded with a smile.

  “And partus,” Franza continued, “means birth.”

  “Good,” said Borger. “Very good! Continue . . . What do you conclude from that?”

  “A first-time mother,” Franza said, catching her breath. “She was a first-time mother!”

  “Bingo,” said Borger with a smile. “Give her one hundred points. Once again, I’m full of praise for our educated classes!”

  “Wow,” Herz said. “That’s quite something.”

  They were silent for a moment, taking it in.

  “So?” Borger finally asked. “Do you want the details?”

  Of course they wanted the details. Borger loosened his tie and began.

  “So, after I found out that Frau Rabinsky had had a hysterectomy . . .” He trailed off, a teasing gleam in his eye.

  Franza shook her head. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Can you just get to the point?”

  “But of course,” Borger said. “Of course, my dearest Franza. So, hysterectomy, as I said. When I discover something like that it naturally arouses my curiosity—why, how, and so on—and I request the medical files. So I got them yesterday afternoon and there it was. Frau Rabinsky was admitted to the clinic five years ago on February 25 with severe pains, there was a vaginal birth, but it was followed by postpartum bleeding.”

  He paused and raised an eyebrow at Herz, who nodded. “Understood. I do know some things.”

  Satisfied, Borger continued. “Good. They carried out a curettage, a scraping of the uterus, in order to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t successful. So they decided to carry out an abdominal hysterectomy, that is, removal of the uterus through the abdominal cavity.”

  He paused briefly. “And in addition to all this information, the medical records also stated that she was at the time primipara. And therefore we can conclude that she could not have given birth to a child several years previously.”

  “And medical records don’t lie,” Herz said slowly.

  Borger nodded. “That’s right. Medical records don’t lie.”

  “What about Lilli?”

  Borger shrugged. “Whoever she is, she isn’t Gertrud Rabinsky’s natural daughter. The rest is up to you.”

  He took a gingerbread cookie from the tin, and was devouring it with relish when the door opened. Arthur.

  “Oh,” Herz said. “Here already?”

  Arthur stopped, out of sorts.

  “Sorry,” he stammered, glancing at the clock. “I’m not that late. How come you’re all here so early?”

  “News,” Franza said, and gave their younger colleague a quick summary.

  “So, we have a new situation on our hands,” Herz said when she finished. “Name of Lilli. And now we need to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps this is the key.”

  “What about Tonio? How does he fit in?” Arthur asked.

  “We’ll find that out, too,” Felix said. “We always find out. Thank you, Borger, you’ve been a great help.”

  “My pleasure, as always.” Borger rose. “I’ll be off, then. Two postmortems waiting. Good luck with the rest of the case.”

  They nodded and he left.

  “She knows,” Franza said, scrabbling for her cell phone.

  “What?” asked Herz. “Who?”

  “Lilli,” Franza said as she dialed Lilli’s number. “That was what she wanted to tell me. That she knew, somehow. Or suspected. Of course. The strangeness. Of course! My God, how stupid am I? Why didn’t I get it?”

  “Don’t stress,” Herz said. “Something like that isn’t necessarily something you get right away. I mean, you’re not clairvoyant.”

  Franza shrugged as she waited impatiently for Lilli to answer.

  “Arthur, you continue with the searches. Work with Hansen, arrange for photos of Hanna and Tonio to be distributed to the press,” Herz said.

  Arthur nodded.

  “She’s not answering,” Franza said.

  “We’ll drive over,” Herz said. He turned to Arthur. “And call Herr Brendler, tell him to go to his daughter’s house right away. Tell him we’ll wait for him there. Tell him it’s very important!”

  Arthur nodded.

  “You’re looking a bit delicate, by the way,” Felix added.

  “Didn’t get much sleep,” Arthur muttered.

  “Business as usual, then,” Felix said casually.

  Franza grabbed her jacket.

  “I can’t wait to hear what the Brendler family have to tell us,” she said. “Are you coming, Felix?”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” He followed her. “You, too,” he said as they went down the stairs.

  “What?”

  “A bit delicate.”

  She said nothing.

  “Been on the chat sites again?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I know.”

  63

  Lilli wasn’t there. They rang and rang, knocked on the door, called her name, but Lilli wasn’t home. Or at least she wasn’t opening the door.

  “OK,” Herz said. “Let’s move on. Perhaps she’s with her family. It’s possible.”


  The detectives arrived at more or less the same time as Hans Brendler. Arthur had obviously impressed the sense of urgency on him.

  “You again,” Dorothee Brendler said as she opened the door. She looked tired and on edge. “What can I do for you this time?”

  It was only then that she saw her husband, who had parked his car next to the detectives’ and was slowly walking toward them. Her eyebrows shot up, and she was silent for a moment, a moment in which she hung in the balance between knowing nothing and only wanting to know nothing. But Franza could see she was already beginning to suspect that this conversation would shake another foundation.

  “May we come in?” Franza asked. “Is there somewhere we can talk undisturbed? And is Lilli here?”

  Dorothee was surprised.

  “No,” she said. “There’s no one here. Moritz is at kindergarten, Christian’s at work, and Lilli . . .” She stopped. “I don’t know where Lilli is. I hardly ever know where Lilli is. She’s an adult, after all. What do you want with her?”

  “Nothing,” Franza said in an attempt to reassure her. “We only want to talk to the two of you.”

  Dorothee nodded. “OK. Should we go out onto the terrace?”

  They went out. The terrace was covered, protecting them from the rain, a bright, light drizzle that gave the day a surprising glow.

  “Can I get you . . . ?”

  She stopped as she saw the detectives shake their heads.

  “Please sit down,” Franza said.

  She hesitated briefly, then sat down, crossed her legs, and stiffened for a moment, looking at Franza with a questioning expression.

  “Lilli,” Franza said.

  They were shocked. Both of them. It was obvious. They didn’t want to be asked about Lilli. Dorothee gave a slight shake of her head. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “I think you know, Frau Brendler,” Herz said.

  She shook her head more emphatically.

  “No,” she gasped. “I don’t know what you mean! What do you want from us?”

  Hans Brendler cleared his throat and laid a calming hand on his wife’s arm.

  “Frau Oberwieser,” he said, “Herr Herz, why don’t you just concentrate on your work and find our daughter’s murderer? What has our granddaughter got to do with the investigation? Why can’t you leave us in peace? We’re suffering enough as it is!”

  “Herr Brendler,” Franza said. “Lilli isn’t your natural granddaughter. We know that. And of course you know it, too.”

  He was about to protest, making a great show of it. But his wife had finally had enough. She was tired and she wanted her life back, even though she knew that would never happen. She needed to rethink her approach. Everything would be changed by this truth that they had denied for all those years, but which had now come to light with unshakeable force. She accepted it now. She no longer had the strength to fight it.

  But her husband did. He jumped up. “What are you thinking? I’m going to file a complaint against you! Don’t you know who I am?”

  His voice was agitated, and his face was flushed red. “How dare you assert that my granddaughter isn’t my granddaughter! Do you want proof? You can have it—birth certificate, the lot!”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can prove it,” Herz said. “I’m completely sure of it. You’re an attorney, after all. Who better than you, Herr Brendler, would know how to bend the law? But as far as we’re concerned . . .”

  Wow, Franza thought, old Herz is really pushing the envelope! Take care, he’ll file a complaint against you before you know it!

  She reached out a hand, about to lay it on Herz’s arm to calm him down a little. But it wasn’t necessary. Dorothee Brendler suddenly leaned over to her husband, motioning for him to sit down.

  “No,” she said quietly and firmly. “No more. That’s enough. It’s over. Let it be.”

  He looked at her for a moment in amazement, and then lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  She stroked his hair. His face grew deathly pale and slack. Franza sensed his pain and the long years of deep uncertainty.

  Dorothee gave a light shake of her head.

  “I don’t want to do it anymore,” she said. “I can’t. No more lies. Enough is enough.”

  She slid closer to him, laid her head on his shoulder, and began to talk, her face averted. Her husband put his arms around her and held her tight. Franza and Felix had to listen hard to understand her.

  “I knew right away,” she said. “There was no way I could fail to see. She stood before me in this ridiculous dress, her belly bulging out, and said, ‘Help me. Make it go away. I don’t want it. I can’t cope with it.’”

  “Who?” Franza asked. “Who, Frau Brendler?”

  Dorothee was silent for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and said, “Hanna. Hanna, of course.”

  Silence reigned for a long moment. It was so silent that there was a thrumming in the ears, in the veins, in the air.

  Dorothee Brendler finally continued, telling of the hours, the days, which had thrown her life off balance.

  “She was away for a long time, Hanna was,” she said. “A really long time—months—and we never heard a thing from her. It was as though she were dead. We were very worried. Gertrud had come home from Greece alone. Tonio was brought back a week later and buried a week after that. And Hanna had disappeared. You just can’t imagine what we were going through.”

  She breathed in deeply, released herself from her husband, and leaned back in her chair, her face now a mask of stone.

  “I recall I was completely alone that day. We had no help around the house anymore since the girls moved away. I was in the garden—I’d just been mowing the lawn—when a taxi drove up. And she got out, our Hanna. Skin and bone . . . except for that round belly. She looked ill, tired, completely exhausted.”

  Dorothee sighed, closed her eyes, and continued. “I went over to the car. She was standing there, an emaciated girl with a swollen belly. She fell into my arms and said, ‘Help me! Or I’ll die! It hurts so much, it’s so hard. Make it go away!’”

  Another pause. Dorothee thought for a while, picturing this starving creature with the swollen belly that she carried in front of her like a poisonous ulcer.

  “My first thought was she needed a hospital. Of course. But she seemed so tired. I paid the taxi driver and put her to bed. She fell asleep immediately.”

  Dorothee looked at her husband, completely calm now, under control, sure of himself. “I called him, and he came and sat down by her bed. We were so happy to have her back with us, that she was alive. She slept for two whole days. In the brief periods when she was awake, we brought her food and drink. I monitored her blood pressure, her circulation. We washed her and fed her like a child. We took time off work to be there for her.”

  “Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?”

  She thought about it, listening to her inner voice. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. They were exceptional circumstances; the three of us were marooned. We weren’t thinking clearly. We simply took care of her. The baby was lying high. There was no indication that she would give birth anytime soon. I thought we still had time. Two, three more weeks. And she was so happy to be home. She felt safe.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. She seemed to have put it all behind her, suppressed it. We didn’t ask. We thought it would all come out when she was ready. In any case, she was asleep most of the time.”

  “And then?”

  “And then . . .” She sighed. “Three days after she arrived, the pains suddenly began. It took us all completely by surprise.”

  She shook her head, still surprised by the memory.

  “She was sitting with us on the terrace for the first time. She’d just eaten a bowl of semolina, her favorite from childhood. She seemed calmer, but still exhausted. I wanted to talk to her, to take her fear away. We’d decided we wouldn’t take her to the hospital until later, until she rea
lly needed a safe place to bring her child into the world.”

  She hesitated and turned to her husband. “I’m thirsty. Could you bring me some water?”

  He stood, went into the house, and returned with a jug of water and four glasses. She took a drink, continued talking. “But suddenly, so incredibly quickly, it all happened. Hanna suddenly cried out, grasped her belly, and screamed in panic and sobbed, ‘I’m dying! I’m dying!’ And I said, ‘No, no, Hanna, you’re not dying, you’re having your baby.’ She looked at me in terror. ‘But I don’t want a baby!’ she sobbed.”

  Dorothee looked at her husband.

  “He took her in his arms, his Hanna, soothed her, and suddenly she was a little girl again. She had only known him as her father, no one else. I said, ‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ but he’d already lifted her up. She was groaning, moaning, and the pains were coming at short intervals. He said, ‘We don’t have time to get to the hospital. We’ll take her into the house, into her room. You’ll have to deliver the baby, you’re a doctor.’”

  She took another sip of water and put the glass back down pensively. “I’m an internist, I have nothing to do with midwifery, but she was lying there moaning and screaming in her bed. What could I do? Of course I helped her bring her child into the world. It was difficult. She was so unyielding—everything was hard and tense inside her. She was so terrified. But then the baby was there. Suddenly, she was there.”

  She smiled and tears began to fall, to run down her cheeks. She let them.

  “At last the baby was born, a little girl. She was strong from the very first moment, wonderfully strong. She screamed bloody murder. She’d been determined to come into the world at any price. She’d roamed half the world with her mother and she’d been suppressed almost completely from Hanna’s thoughts, her feelings, her awareness. She must have sensed that Hanna didn’t want her, that Hanna rejected her; she had to let her do that so they could both survive, and then . . . and then she was there. And she saved her mother’s life, I’m sure of that to this day. Without her, Hanna would have stayed somewhere, died, vanished. If that baby hadn’t brought her home.”