Strangers on a Bridge

by Louise Mangos

  It dawned on me that Manfred must have taken it from the washing line in the summer that day he folded my clothes. Unless he’d somehow taken it from the drawer in my bedroom. I couldn’t see how it could be linked to me. If it had been freshly laundered, it would no longer contain traces of my DNA, although there could always be a hair trapped in the lace, my fingerprint on a label as I folded it. Or his.

  But I had to admit it was mine. My eyes had already revealed that much, which I was sure had been the detective’s intention in the first place. To try and catch me off-guard, although I wasn’t sure why it would make any difference. The article should have implicated Manfred, not me.

  ‘Yes, that’s my camisole top. I’m pretty sure Manfred – Mr Guggenbuhl – took it from my washing line a few months ago. He… folded my laundry once when it was raining.’

  Müller cast me an incredulous look.

  ‘When did you notice it was missing?’

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair.

  I remembered stuffing the clean folded laundry back into the washing machine to wash away the madness of his touch, but I hadn’t realised anything was missing. Is that the sort of thing I should be remembering?

  ‘No mention of the theft was made to us, Frau Reed. Stealing is a crime, although this is not a major theft. Perhaps you should have mentioned this to the police when you made your complaint.’

  ‘But I didn’t notice. Do you keep note of every piece of underwear you put into your washing machine, Mr Müller?’

  My anger began to rise again, and I clenched my jaw to avoid making a scene. What kind of twisted society chased a perpetrator for a petty theft but did nothing about a stalker obsessed with a woman and her family?

  I forced myself to smooth the lines of tension on my face, and sat stoically, waiting for the next questions. I was torn about voicing my frustrations. This was not the moment for that platform. I had to be careful. Who knew what error of speech would end up getting me thrown in jail.

  ‘You refer to the victim by his first name as though he were an acquaintance of yours, Frau Reed.’

  I stared at Müller, and could no longer hold my tongue.

  ‘Do you realise how this crazy person, this mentally disturbed man, completely messed up our lives?’

  I was incensed they had no idea about the psyche of a stalker. It seemed I had more knowledge about the phenomenon from clicking through pages on the Internet than they had experience in the criminal department of the local police station.

  ‘I think it’s about time you guys got your act together and realised stalking is a criminal problem.’

  I crossed my arms and leaned back. For a moment it seemed we had all forgotten we were talking about a dead man.

  ‘The issue is being addressed, Frau Reed. Unfortunately, you are our first such case in the canton. It is not something we have had experience with before, outside domestic disputes and such problems between partners. Will you be walking again tomorrow evening, Frau Reed?’

  The way he asked this made me flush. It was as though he didn’t believe there could have been such a coincidence. Going for a walk on the same evening as Manfred’s suicide.

  ‘Something is confusing to me. If you say you take a walk on many evenings, were you aware the victim was following you each time?’

  ‘I… yes, once or twice I was aware, but he didn’t approach me.’

  ‘I find it strange that he chose that particular night to take his life, and did not follow you on your walk. We do not know his motivation because there was no note, no letter.’

  I shrugged, unsure whether he was asking for my opinion again. From then on I decided only to answer direct questions. I’d already offered too many of my own impressions. My tea remained cold on Müller’s desk, and I wanted to go home.

  ‘When will we be finished here? I’d like to be at home when my children come back from school,’ I said. ‘They need to know they are now in a safe family environment. Things have been a little uncertain for them over the past few months, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Of course, Frau Reed, yes, I’m sorry. This must be upsetting for you. Certainly you can go. If we need you again, we will contact you. If you don’t mind…’ Müller placed his hand proprietarily over the plastic bag. ‘…I would like to keep this until we have concluded our investigation.’

  ‘That’s okay, I don’t want it back. You can keep it.’ I hesitated. ‘May I ask exactly what it is you are investigating? This man has committed suicide, hasn’t he?’

  I was hoping to hear an affirmative, but his next comment made the hair prickle on the back of my neck.

  ‘There are many procedures we still need to follow before we can close this case, Frau Reed. We need to wait for the result of the victim’s autopsy. The family has been contacted. There may be some inconsistencies. We are still searching his old home and apartment, his belongings. We would like you to remain available should we need to contact you again, yes?’

  I nodded, face burning. Inconsistencies?

  Müller rose from his chair and opened his office door for me.

  ‘Can you remember the way out?’

  I nodded, tucked my arm through the handles of my handbag and pulled it close to my shoulder like a shield, so he couldn’t see my hands shake. I walked briskly out of the police station, a chill breeze gusting the last dead leaves high up into the air between the great glass edifices of the Grafenau buildings.

  Instead of heading back to the bus station, I walked under a narrow railway bridge towards the lake and joined the path leading into the old town of Zug along the shore. The dark grey waters of the Zugersee were now unwelcomingly choppy with the wind, and I shivered.

  I wondered what inconsistencies the policeman was referring to. Surely this was just a clear-cut case of suicide. Maybe they’d found a diary of Manfred’s. A written record might have implicated me, although I wasn’t sure how. Everyone knew he was stalking me.

  Suicide was the natural explanation, the logical end to Manfred’s story. What could possibly have presented itself as an inconsistency? I’d thought I would have felt better by then, safe, satisfied he was no longer a threat in our lives. But at that stage I was unravelling, beginning to fray.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  DECEMBER

  I barely heard the doorbell over the sound of the boys thumping down the stairs with their schoolbags. Accompanying them into the main hallway of the building, I opened the door. My heart jumped in my throat.

  ‘Gerry…’ The hard ‘G’ of his name made me sound American.

  As the boys rushed past me, Oliver yelled ‘See ya, Mum!’ and Leon muttered sarcastically under his breath ‘Gary’, imitating a cowboy drawl.

  Despite the quip, they were not remotely interested in the newcomer. I watched the boys’ backs until they disappeared round the corner. A chill wind pushed at the door, air whistling through the hinges and gaps. I wasn’t sure whether to let Gerry in, couldn’t read the expression on his face, so neutral, so closed. His eyes traced the doorframe, as if seeking the magic spell that would facilitate his entry into another dimension. I remained rooted to the spot in a panic of indecision.

  ‘Come in,’ I finally said, letting the door swing closed as I led him down the hallway into the living room. ‘Please, sit down. Can I get you a coffee, a tea, something else to drink?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Reed – Alice.’

  I hadn’t heard my name on his lips before, and I felt a little uneasy with the familiarity. He sat confidently on the sofa, unzipped his crimson ski jacket, leaned back and crossed his legs. These messages confused me. It was as though he was making himself at home. Too at home in my house.

  He was, after all, his father’s son.

  I perched on a tall-backed armchair and tilted my head, a silent encouragement to have him explain why he was there.

  ‘Did you know my father is dead?’ Gerry asked abruptly, dispensing wi
th the exchanges of greeting and weather reports that usually eased vague acquaintances into conversation.

  ‘I… Yes, the police came to see me. They say he… took his own life.’

  My face flushed, and I pulled the blouse together at my throat, knowing hives of nervousness would soon appear.

  ‘I honestly didn’t think he had the… how do you say – guts – to do this thing. He was so weak, so pathetic.’

  Gerry shrugged out of his ski jacket, laid it next to him on the sofa, and patted it absently. He was wearing a plaited leather friendship bracelet clasped with a large brass stud, and I stared briefly at the knuckle of his wrist. The warmth of the room felt oppressively close and I regretted having cranked the heating up a few days before.

  I couldn’t tell whether Gerry was asking for sympathy or wanting to explore the reasons for Manfred’s death with me. I thought he had cut off all contact with his father, thought he wouldn’t care whether Manfred lived or died, but the very fact that he was here in my living room made me afraid he felt he had made a terrible mistake in ostracising his own kin. Here was a man only a few years older than my own children. He couldn’t be sure his opinions in life wouldn’t alter. There was always time for forgiveness, for a change of heart.

  My fear was that it had come too late for Gerry. I detected a sort of frustrated sadness in the way he looked around our family living room. I followed his gaze. His eyes settled on the bookshelf, on the photo of me and the boys standing outside the Palace of Versailles.

  ‘The photo sits well on your shelf. It’s back in its rightful place. You must be happy now my father is no longer a threat to you and your family,’ he said, eyes still on the photo.

  He almost sounded jealous. I looked at the photo too, wishing I could magic myself back to that carefree visit to Paris over a year ago, to a time before all this happened.

  With horror, I realised Gerry had regrets about his father. Regrets existed where he had once told me he wouldn’t miss him even if he’d thrown himself off the Tobel Bridge. Back then, he just didn’t care. He looked fretful, confused.

  The fact that he was sitting here on my couch meant he did care.

  But it was too late now.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  ‘Gerry, I’m happy I’ve been able to return to a normal life with my family. But I can’t say I’m happy about what has happened. It would have been much better for everyone if your father had chosen to seek the help we all advised, if he had taken his medication, talked to a doctor or psychologist. Even checked in to an institution. There are professionals who can help people who’ve tried to take their lives, to avoid them returning to that dark place.’

  I paused, watching Gerry run his fingers through the wave of hair hanging over his forehead. I could see him fighting a battle in his mind. I didn’t want to see him suffer. We were all better off now Manfred had gone. But I could hardly voice this to his son.

  This young man had so much ahead of him. Moving to sit beside him on the couch, I laid my hand on the top of his as it rested on his knee. It was supposed to be a motherly gesture, but when Gerry looked sharply at my fingers, I felt embarrassed, that somehow my touch had crossed a forbidden barrier.

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for what has happened, Gerry. If your father was still alive today, he’d probably have become ever more delusional, would have made all our lives more of a living hell. He’s at peace now.’

  ‘I didn’t know when I came here how I would feel. I’m still not sure. I had to make sure you had nothing to do with his decision. To make sure you didn’t somehow push him into it. I can see now I’m here that you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t be, how do you say, callous enough. But I can see why my father had this attraction, this obsession with you.’

  I felt an involuntary blush rise from the base of my neck, and my pulse spiked. But contrary to logic, I didn’t feel disgusted. He saw me flush, and hurriedly continued.

  ‘What I mean is, I think you are a good person. I see goodness in you, and something else. I see you are fragile. People like us can still be broken.’

  People like us?

  ‘Gerry, I am so sorry this happened to your father. You seem like a good person too, and we can’t be blamed for any mistakes we’ve made that might have brought about his death. Have you talked to your mother? You need each other to get through this.’

  Gerry shook his head slowly.

  ‘My mother… I didn’t think we would see things the same way. At first she was a little more, how do you say, ruthless about what happened to my father. She seemed to want to shut that part of our history away and carry on as if nothing happened. She wanted to throw away all my father’s things the day the police came to tell her he was dead, but they wouldn’t let her. They’ve put tape around the storage room in our basement where some of my father’s things still are. They’ve also put tape across the door of his apartment in the village here. I’ve just come from there. But, after all that, she still didn’t seem to care.’

  Gerry brushed his hand through his hair again, distracting me briefly.

  ‘But then I couldn’t believe it,’ he continued. ‘The morning after the police were in our house my mother came downstairs to go to work and she broke down. She went down to the basement and stood staring at the tape across the storage-room door as though she wanted to go in there, might find him sitting among his things. She was sobbing. She couldn’t speak to me, kept shaking her head. I guess it was the same for me. It came to us both as a big surprise. Not just that my father died. It’s the pointless loss of life that nature spent so much time creating in this complicated miracle of cells and chromosomes. You know, I’m studying science, and something so precious should not be discarded so easily… Life.’

  Gerry looked away, glazed eyes not concentrating on the view out of the window, but looking into himself, at some unseen vision in his head. Heart pounding, I discreetly studied his profile, then lowered my eyes as he turned to me and continued.

  ‘But ultimately it made me angry, this show of misery. It made me angry that my father had once again upset my mother. I kept telling her he’d found a better place, like you said; that he’d made peace with himself. He didn’t need us to find his way out. I think she was relieved then. She seemed to straighten herself up, brushed away the tears, and gave me a hug. She hasn’t spoken about it since. But I don’t know if that was it, the extent of her sadness, or if she’s just hiding her emotions from me to make me think she’s strong.’

  Gerry shifted in his seat. A pinched look around his eyes gave me the impression he was holding back emotions he didn’t want to show.

  My eyes automatically filled with tears, and my chest constricted, knowing I was the one who had ultimately caused most of his pain. I kept the focus of our conversation on Gerry’s mother.

  ‘Maybe she needs more help than you think, Gerry. She is your mother.’

  I could only put myself in Leon or Oliver’s shoes at this point and hoped they wouldn’t abandon me in a similar situation.

  ‘I think she will be okay, but maybe you’re right,’ he continued. ‘Maybe she is hiding that she is upset. She didn’t even take a day off sick. She goes to work at the insurance company in Wohlen, comes home, does the things she has always done, a little embroidery, or reading. She even went to a Jass card game with her friends on Tuesday night, as if nothing had happened. She was always difficult to interpret. She seemed neither happy nor annoyed to see me when I visited her this week.’

  ‘Gerry, it disturbs me that you sound so bitter. It sounds to me as if there is still a lot of conflict going on inside you.’

  ‘Do you know there is an investigation going on?’

  ‘Well, yes, apart from you telling me about the police tape just now, I was also questioned about his death.’

  ‘You? I know I said I came here to make sure, but how could they possibly imagine you had anything to do with it?’

  And just like that, I saw a cog of though
t clicking in Gerry’s mind. He’d been questioned too. Perhaps he thought they suspected him of some misdemeanour. I shouldn’t have revealed I had been questioned. Gerry’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me searchingly, and I blushed again. We sat for a few moments in awkward silence, my gaze downcast to avoid eye contact at such close proximity.

  ‘I feel better for having talked to you, Alice. Thank you for seeing me.’

  He left his last thought about my police questioning unanswered, hopefully forgotten, some kind of rhetorical sympathy.

  ‘That’s okay, Gerry. I’m glad I could be of help.’

  He searched my face, and it wasn’t the first time I noticed his very green eyes, made brighter by his unshed tears. I felt a little tingle in my sternum. I cleared my throat and was about to speak again when he interjected.

  ‘If I need to, you know, talk about it again, would it be okay if I called you? We can meet somewhere else if you like. I don’t want to worry you by coming to your home. I know how strange it must feel, my father having been close by for so many months. But as you spent more time with him than anyone else, maybe I can try to sort out these… these feelings I can’t yet identify. Can you do that for me?’

  What could I say? I wanted to tell him I thought it would be better if we didn’t see each other again. I should have told him that. Part of me couldn’t believe how bold he was. It was time for me to forget about the horrors of the past few months. Time for me to put my house and my family back in order. On the other hand, I couldn’t bring myself to quash his youthful hope that I could help him somehow. As though he was using me as a sounding board for something he should be asking his mother. I felt truly sorry for Gerry, for his conflict, for his unidentifiable emotions. So, without really knowing why, I said yes, he could contact me, and I gave him my mobile phone number.

  ‘But Gerry, I think you should talk to a psychologist. A professional can help you more than I can. I’m not qualified to give advice.’

  I remembered saying these very same words to his father some months before. The parallel made me shiver. I had to put the brakes on this association. I didn’t need the complication of a new fellowship.