Down in the breakfast room the TV was turned to a news channel. He ate a croissant and drank coffee as he watched it, even though it was all in German. He wondered if Eleni’s murder would be featured.
A video clip showing the front of a kebab shop was playing. Then there were pictures of a body being taken to an ambulance in a green body bag.
Ein weiterer Türke ermordet, was the caption beneath the images.
He leaned over to a young man with close cropped hair sitting alone nearby. The man was also staring at the screen.
“Excuse me, what’s happened?” asked Sean, pointing at the TV.
“Another immigrant dead,” answered the man flatly. His English was heavily accented.
“We are going back to the past, ja,” said the man. “It’s how you say, a living nightmare, ja?” He looked at Sean for signs of agreement. “There are many foreigners living in our country these days. That’s what’s stirring this up all over again.” He stood, waved at Sean as he left.
Distracted, Sean half waved in reply. He was thinking about how soon he’d be out of Nuremberg. His flight left at 10:50 the following morning. He would be back in London by lunchtime. Not a moment too soon.
He headed out into the street to get some air. The city had a deserted, lonely feel. He’d intended to do some sightseeing, but he didn’t feel like going anywhere. He couldn’t force himself to forget what had happened to Eleni. Everything else seemed totally unimportant.
An icy wind blew while he walked. Was Jerome still at the police station? He looked in his wallet. Jerome’s card was still there, but the order of the credit cards, and recent business cards and receipts he’d picked up, looked different than it had the day before. He looked through the cards again. Yes, someone must have taken each of them out and looked at them. Each credit card number had probably been recorded and every phone number from the business cards too.
Were the bundespolizei going to track every cent he spent in Germany and every call he made?
He took Jerome’s card out and punched in the number listed. To his surprise Jerome answered within two rings. He almost dropped his phone. He’d expected there to be no answer, expected to have to leave a message, for Jerome to be still in custody.
“Sean, it is so good to hear your voice.” Jerome’s was faltering, as if he’d been crying.
“I’m so sorry about Eleni. It’s shocking. I can’t believe it.”
“You know what happened?”
“Yes, the police questioned me last night.”
“Sean, please come to the Holiday Inn on Engelhardgasse. Room 213.”
Sean hesitated.
“Where’s that?
“Near the city center.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He turned toward the direction of the hotel and ordered a taxi. He was at Jerome’s hotel twenty minutes later. It was still only ten-thirty. The Holiday Inn was on a narrow, brick-paved street with parking on one side. The hotel building was a cream colored modern copy of an older building, perhaps a building that was there before the war. It was part of a five story terrace of houses with two levels of attic windows jutting out from a steeply sloping tiled roof.
There were three square tables outside the hotel under canvas umbrellas. There was no one sitting at them. He went inside, headed straight for the elevator and up to room 213. The hotel reception was busy and no one even noticed him. His chest felt tight as he stood at the door of Jerome’s room. There was no sound in the corridor. His knock was louder than he’d intended when his knuckles rapped at the pale wood of the door.
It was thirty seconds before Jerome answered. He called Sean’s name, then opened the door when Sean replied. His face was a mess. It looked as if he’d been beaten up. There were large purple patches not only under his eyes, but also across his forehead and on his cheeks.
“Come in.” He motioned Sean in, then poked his head out into the corridor.
Sean gripped Jerome’s shoulder. After Jerome closed the door they hugged.
Jerome pulled away. His head went down.
“Are you okay?”
Jerome held out his hand. His breathing was laboured. He gripped Sean’s when he extended it, held it like a lifeline. Then he turned away, a half suppressed cry of pain coming from somewhere deep inside him.
“They killed her. I told her they were going to do something bad. I told her a hundred times. No, two hundred.” Jerome rubbed his palms across his face. The pressure made his skin buckle. He let out a scream. Strange African words flowed. Angry words. They echoed, then stopped. His voice faltered.
A television turned on in another room. The volume went up. Loud music thumped through the walls.
Jerome had his hands over his eyes. Tears appeared through the gaps between his fingers. Sean felt awkward, overwhelmed.
“The police think I had something to do with Eleni’s death.” Jerome pulled his hands away from his face. They cut through the air in front of Sean as he waved them about.
His expression was contorted again, this time in total supplication. “You must tell them I would never harm a single hair anywhere on her beautiful body. I would never do anything to the woman I love like my own life.” He hit his chest with clasped hands. “They don’t believe me!” Another half suppressed sob came from his throat.
“Did the police mistreat you?”
“No, no, but you must tell them I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. Please, Sean.”
“I already told them that. I told them I’m sure you didn’t do it.”
“They asked you about me? When?” Jerome had a curious look on his face.
“Late yesterday afternoon. I was in the station for hours. I didn’t get back to my hotel until nearly midnight.”
Jerome’s face darkened. “I was let out at six this morning.”
“They’re finished with you?”
“I don’t know. They told me I could go. A young policeman came to the cell. He woke me. He almost pushed me out.”
“They didn’t tell you if they’d found the bastard who did it?”
“No. All he said was that they would visit me later today.” He paused. “I can’t go back to the apartment, Sean. I can’t look at Eleni’s things. I don’t want to see them. You must understand that.” He was pleading again. “I don’t want to see the police again. Not now.”
“They’ll know you’re here.”
Jerome’s eyes darted to the door. “I gave a false name at reception. I paid in cash.” He looked unhappy.
“Why on earth, Jerome?” This was about the worst thing Jerome could have done. It would look as if he’d gone into hiding.
“I have to get things ready for her funeral. Her sisters must come. Her family must prepare her, prepare her apartment. They will stay there, turn her pictures to the wall, cover the mirrors. I cannot do these things. We were not married. Unless all this is done right her spirit will not return home. It will not return to Africa. It will be trapped here in Germany.” He thumped his fist into his forehead. “I have to arrange so many things!”
It was hard for Sean to watch the scientist he’d spoken to the day before disintegrating in front of him. Jerome’s grief was alive in the room, a presence. He looked twisted, both inside and out. Sean placed his hand on Jerome’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll have time to do everything right. She was a wonderful woman.”
“She died in agony, Sean! Her spirit cries for vengeance.” Jerome’s face was twisting again. This time he looked angry, almost out of control. He sat, abruptly, leaned back, put his hands out wide. The chair creaked.
“I do not know if her sisters will come. They are poor. I must decide too many things!” He raised his hands to the roof. “I should have saved her. I could have.”
Sean sat in the other chair. “Please, Jerome. You’re not responsible for what happened. Someone did this to her. The police will find them. I will help you, if you need money.”
“Thank you, but no. I wil
l be fine.” He turned to Sean. “Do you think they will find who killed her?” He laughed manically. “Because I don’t. They asked me if Eleni was involved in occult practices, devil worship, that kind of thing. I nearly hit them. Those policemen are evil. They asked, did she have African friends, groups that she used to meet. They want to blame us. I told them about the stickers. They say they are everywhere.” He wrung his hands.
“They kept asking about her friends and her family, what their beliefs are.” He banged his hands into his face, held them there. They were shaking. His bones were moving under his skin. His voice thickened.
“They wouldn’t listen. I told them the evil of their Nazi grandfathers has come back, because of all the refugees that have come here. I told them I can feel the hatred in this country growing every day. They just sat there, staring at me.” He grimaced. “Then they asked me again about what I knew about the occult.” Spittle flecked the air. His hands were fists. His eyes were blazing.
“Eleni was supposed to do an interview with a journalist, about how Adolf Hitler was a front.” He lifted his hands, as if controlling a marionette.
“A front for who?” It sounded implausible.
“The Vatican.” He spat out the word. “That’s where Hitler got his hatred of the Jews. You know Pope Paul IV began this thing of forcing Jews to wear yellow stars in 1555, and he forced the Jews to all be locked in ghettos at night, in every Christian city. The Vatican wanted the Jewish ghettos back for decades before Hitler followed their ideas. He said this himself!” He paused, reached a hand out towards Sean.
“Somebody must have found out what Eleni was going to broadcast! That’s why they murdered her.” His eyes were wide, bloodshot. His hands were shaking.
“Have you slept?” Sean was concerned for Jerome now. He pulled his chair closer. They were only a few feet apart.
“No, no, I can’t sleep. What they did to Eleni makes me sick. It makes me want to die! The police told me everything. They wanted to know had I heard of such rituals!” He leaned forward, then back, rocking.
Sean leaned in towards him. “You should rest,” he said, gently. “Would you like me to call a doctor, get you a sleeping pill?”
Jerome didn’t seem to hear him.
“The genocide. It’s starting again,” he said. He raised his fists in front of him. “I can feel it.”
“You can’t say that, just because of Eleni.”
“Yes, yes, I can. And I will. I didn’t tell you everything yet.” His fists dropped. He had a beaten look on his face.
“What didn’t you tell me?”
Jerome glared at him. “There’s a story going around among all of us Africans here in Nuremberg.”
Sean shook his head. “You can’t believe in rumors.”
“But this one is coming true.” Jerome raised a hand to him. “They’re going to try to kill all Africans next.”
“That’s just paranoia.”
“That’s what the Jews said, before they were all rounded up.” Jerome was angry. He raised a fist to his forehead, held it there, pressing into his skin, crinkling it.
There was silence in the room. Then Jerome let out a long sob, which became a moan.
“I’m so sorry,” said Sean.
A warbling sound filled the air. It was Sean’s phone. He slipped it from his pocket awkwardly, almost dropped it, put it to his ear.
“Sean?” It was Isabel’s voice.
“Hi. Is everything okay?” he said.
“Something strange just happened,” she said.
19
Xena was in the ground floor reception area of a two storey building in the Nordend suburb of Frankfurt. The building had no markings on it to say who occupied it. The security guard who’d opened the glass door to allow her inside was standing behind a low desk. He had his phone to his ear.
He’d stared at her Ethiopian bracelets as she’d moved past him, and had spent longer than he should have looking at her braided cornrow hairstyle, and admiring her tight jeans.
He’d advised her to sit and wait on one of the cream leather sofas that filled one corner, by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The windows had thick metal blinds blocking out the view. The only sound in the reception area was the faint hum of air conditioning. The only smell was lemony antiseptic, as if the last people who’d been here had been cleaners.
But Xena didn’t sit. Nervous energy moved inside her. She went to the far wall, where there was a shiny red fire extinguisher, then paced around the sofas, then headed back to the fire extinguisher.
From a distance, the way she was dressed, you might have assumed she was meeting a lover or a husband, that she was rich and admired, a model perhaps, or a diplomat’s daughter. Her eyes gave no hint of what she did best.
“Fräulein,” said the security guard, as he walked towards her.
“Yes,” said Xena. Her German was as good as her Italian and her English, but she preferred for some people to think she couldn’t understand them. She also spoke Amharic and Oromo, the two main languages of Ethiopia.
“Please go to the second floor,” he said, in English. He pointed at the elevator.
As the elevator went up Xena recited her prayer.
“Abba-Ta-Chin, Hoy Besemay Yemit’Nor,” it began. Our Father, who art in Heaven.
Her words grew softer, barely audible.
When the elevator doors opened with a sigh, she stepped forward. There was an ebony-black reception desk at the far side of a white carpeted area. No one was waiting there. She looked around, saw a half-open door to her left and headed towards it.
A tall man, with a nut-brown and wrinkled face stood beyond the doorway. His expression was gloomy. His neck muscles bulged over the white collar of his shirt and his suit jacket fitted him too tightly. Xena knew this was a dress statement by security guards here in Germany, many of them ex special-forces, since the refugee riots across Europe had begun. They liked to show off their physiques.
“Please, I must search you.” His English was good, but his German inflections were hard to hide.
Xena shrugged, kept her expression firm, put her arms out to her side.
The guard gave her a pat down. He missed the paper-thin knife inside her thigh, near the top. He checked her small leather shoulder bag, verified that the phone inside worked. She’d expected he wouldn’t find the knife. He’d have had to strip search to do that. Its shape was curved at the edges and its handle was as thin as the blade.
When he was finished, he nodded, and let her pass.
Vanessa Sheer was at the far end of the room, standing beside a wall of windows overlooking the Main River. Below, the water was a dark band, a hundred metres wide. Beyond it were the lights of the skyscrapers of Frankfurt’s financial district. They twinkled like columns of jewels. A laser beam from one of the buildings lit the low clouds overhead with blue circles.
“Welcome back to Frankfurt, Fräulein,” said Sheer. She walked fast towards Xena, her hand out straight in front of her.
It felt cold when Xena grasped it. But she shook it firmly, and squeezed it. Vanessa pulled her hand away.
“Come, sit. Tell me what progress you have made.” Sheer pointed at a gray leather sofa in the far corner of the room. Two leather chairs faced it, making a meeting area. The only other furniture in the room was a black wooden desk with a thin silver screen on it.
Xena sat, her long legs spread wide in front of her. “The job is done. The name Catherine was mentioned. I believe he meant St. Catherine’s.”
“Good work,” said Vanessa. “But we have another problem.”
Xena stared back at her. “What problem?”
“Sean Ryan.” Vanessa’s eyes flicked to the door at the far end of the room. A tall figure with silver gray hair, Monsignor Salerna, was standing in the doorway, observing them.
Vanessa stood, motioned the priest forward.
“I will need another payment.”
There was a languid tone to Vanessa Sheer’s
voice when she responded. “You will get it, when the problem has been solved.”
Xena put her hand out. “And today’s payment?”
Vanessa went to the desk, opened a drawer, took out an envelope and passed it to Xena. Xena opened it, flicked through the notes inside. She peered closely at one of the notes, then nodded, closed the envelope, pocketed it.
“Call me on the secure line as soon as you confirm the problem is solved. Sean Ryan is in Nuremberg until tomorrow. His hotel is the Centrum, on Augustiner Strasse. Get it over with quickly.” She didn’t offer her hand as Xena moved to the door.
When she was outside the building Xena looked back. The security guard who’d been in the reception area was gone and the lights were out. The building looked deserted. Perhaps it had only been opened for their meeting. She walked fast. She’d parked her hire car three blocks away.
The drive to Nuremberg would take a little over four hours. She would watch for unmarked police cars, but she would be doing nothing that would attract their attention.
What she had to do on the journey was work out a good way to finish this job properly.
20
Sean held the phone tight to his ear. He could hear Isabel breathing. Jerome was staring at him. He glanced around. He needed some privacy. Jerome must have sensed it. He walked towards the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, Sean spoke.
“What happened? Is Alek okay?”
“No, it’s not Alek.”
“Is this about Eleni?”
There was a pause. He could sense Isabel’s mind ticking over.
“What happened to Eleni?”
There could be no avoiding it now.
“She’s been murdered.” He heard a gasp, the sound of Isabel sucking in her breath. He closed his eyes. He felt guilty for worrying her.
“When are you coming home, Sean?” The worried note in her voice was like a hand squeezing Sean’s heart.
“About seven tomorrow night.”
“How did Eleni die?” There was almost an accusation in her question.
“She was being harassed here. It looks like some neo-Nazis did it. The whole thing is horrific. I’m with her partner right now.”
The Nuremberg Puzzle Page 7
