The Lie

by Petra Hammesfahr

  He broke off and promised, “If I find the things, I’ll send you them. Then you can contribute the odd remark to the conversation without making a fool of yourself. But you mustn’t overdo it. No one’ll notice if a woman whose husband thinks she’s fucked up again keeps her mouth shut.”

  Then he sat down at the computer and fiddled around for a while to familiarize himself with it. “What’s Sec?” he asked. She didn’t know. All she could remember was that in September Michael had said something about taking it down. From that Dieter concluded they could do without Sec for the time being. He also deleted a few operational programs, commenting, “Better safe than sorry.”

  When he thought they had enough storage space, he explained what she had to do in Hardenberg’s office. He was uneasy about leaving the data transfer to her, but he couldn’t see to it himself because of the dinner with his publisher.

  Before he went, he had time to report what else he’d heard. That morning he’d been to the police again to find out if they had any clues about the acquaintance who’d phoned Susanne at the shop. They hadn’t. On the Friday evening Jasmin Toppler had dropped her outside the multi-storey and driven straight back home. On Saturday Frau Gathmann had only seen the Alfa from a distance, hadn’t noted the number and couldn’t say what make of car it was. Nor could they establish where the two calls from Nadia had come from, since the confectioner’s didn’t have an ISDN line. It appeared the police hadn’t stumbled across Alfo Investment yet. Naturally they didn’t tell him everything but they’d hinted that their money was on an opportunist thief disturbed in the flat.

  “By the way, she applied for the replacement documents at the beginning of August,” Dieter said. “Two days after she’d received the first report from the private eye and knew for certain that you had no contacts apart from your mother. It usually takes four to six weeks before you get the new documents. In the meantime you get a paper from the vehicle-licensing people certifying that you’re permitted to drive. The council registration office also issues you with something you can use as ID if necessary. I suspect she’d have still put one over on you, even if you hadn’t gone along with it. She probably only really needed you so her husband wouldn’t get suspicious while she was off on her travels.”

  Now Nadia’s concern about her marriage was working to her advantage, Dieter said. For the moment she was safe, at least from the police. So far they’d seen no cause to do a DNA test to confirm the identity of the dead woman. “They don’t do that as routine, it’s expensive and they’re looking to save money. Let’s just hope it stays that way - after the confusion your mother caused. She insisted you rang her on Sunday evening. I advised her to change her statement and not make a fuss.”

  “Did you tell her I was OK?”

  He grinned. “Not likely. Or do you think she could keep it to herself?”

  “What do they need for one of these DNA tests?” she asked.

  “In principle just your toothbrush.”

  “I’ve got that here.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “A hair-brush does the job just as well, though I very much doubt whether they looked for one in the shambles that had been made of your flat. If necessary, they could take a sample from your mother to rule out a family connection. But if they do that, I’ll hear about it. She rings me up three times a day.”

  Then he handed back the office keys, emphasizing how important it was not to let anyone near her computer until he’d made sure Hardenberg had been thorough in deleting files. “Heaven only knows where that leaves you if all he’s done is to save his own skin. Anyone who really wants to can view the smaller files in the editor.”

  He’d made a list of the files he wanted to have a look at. He told her to buy some CDs the following day and copy what he wanted onto them. He was going to do that at home. On no account should he stay close to her unnecessarily, he’d realized that much at least. “That’s the last thing you want at the moment. Is Trenkler likely to start doing some digging off his own bat?”

  “Why should he?”

  “Well I would if my wife was involved in something like that.”

  “He’s a scientist,” she said, “not a journalist.”

  Dieter nodded pensively. “What about the neighbours? Policeman can mean almost anything and it’s a pretty expensive area round here. He won’t be driving a patrol car, that’s for sure.”

  She told him about Lilo’s party and the news of Röhrler’s death. Dieter was immediately concerned. “Sounds like the serious fraud squad. He was probably onto her and she gave him Röhrler to get him off her back. Want to bet?” No she didn’t, he was probably right.

  Shortly after Dieter had left, she decided to go and carry out the data transfer. There seemed to be plenty of time, even though it was just after three. However, as she was watching the green estate disappear - and trying to establish whether the neighbours had noticed her visitor - Michael rang.

  After he’d started to leave a message on the answerphone, he was audibly relieved that she’d picked up the phone. “I thought we could go to Demetros’s this evening,” he said. “I am going to be a bit late, but I could manage it by nine. You could go on ahead and we’ll meet there.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “but I just don’t feel like going out.”

  “You’ll wait up for me?”

  “Of course.”

  The last thing she heard was a quiet, “I love you.”

  No, she thought, not me. Then she switched the alarm system on and went to the garage. There was heavy traffic on the autobahn into town, but despite that it only took her three quarters of an hour. She parked in one of the reserved spaces and went up by lift. There was no one in the lift nor, as Dieter had predicted, in the Alfo Investment offices.

  The transfer presented no difficulties, but it took time. When she left, the building was almost empty. There were only a few cars among the massive pillars in the underground car park. She didn’t notice any that seemed familiar and might have warned her. She did hear an engine starting up somewhere in the background, but paid no attention to it.

  Driving through the city she noticed the car that was tailing her several times, only she didn’t realize it was tailing her. It was a grey car. It never overtook her, but in the heavy after-work traffic that was impossible anyway. She drifted along - with the traffic and with her thoughts. Demetros’s! A delicious meal in a pleasant restaurant would have been nice. But she could cook herself. And set the table with candles and all the trimmings. What she couldn’t do was to go for complete reconciliation, the previous night had made that clearer than any quarrel could have. Even if it broke her heart, she had to get Michael thinking about divorce again. Or, even better, take off herself. Not necessarily in the next couple of days, but as soon as possible.

  When the grey car followed her up the autobahn slip road, her mind was still fixed on Paris. If Michael could get off until Wednesday and Phil and Pamela were looking forward to a visit… A foreign city, it should be possible to slip away… She needn’t stay there - it would be difficult, anyway, if she couldn’t speak the language.

  The grey car was practically stuck to her rear bumper. Eventually she noticed. She saw too that there was just one man in it. In the headlights of the car behind, his head appeared as a silhouette in her rear-view mirror. A square, squat head! Her heart missed a beat.

  She pulled out. There was a small gap between a refrigerated lorry and an articulated lorry. It was one hell of a squeeze, but she managed it. The driver of the refrigerated lorry responded to her risky manoeuvre with repeated blasts on his horn. The radiator of the massive vehicle rose up behind her like a mountain and for a moment she could see herself getting squashed under the artic. She risked a quick glance at the outside lane. The grey car had also slowed down and was now right beside her. The driver’s face could be seen more clearly. Ramon! Jerking the wheel, she pulled onto the hard shoulder and put her foot down.

  On her right the da
rk bushes beside the safety barrier flew past, on her left an endless stream of HGVs. It was so narrow, it was like speeding down a tube. After a mile or so there seemed to be a space in front. She shot up to the gap, swerved back into the inside lane and stamped on the brakes. In front an ancient van was labouring up the hill, behind were the headlights of an HGV and beside her cars driving nose to tail. Another gap in the outside lane. She squeezed in and accelerated. On the right a sign appeared. Not far to her exit. The grey car had disappeared. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, convinced she’d shaken it off.

  But when she indicated and turned right into the exit, it appeared from nowhere. And again it was right behind her. Just missing the exit crash barrier by inches, she shot back along the inside lane, then pulled out. She couldn’t shake it off. She sped along for another ten miles, not thinking of Johannes Herzog, though her head was full of his instructions, switching from one lane to the other, then onto the hard shoulder again. There Ramon drove up so close behind, she was afraid he was going to force her up against the crash barrier.

  Fifteen miles, twenty miles, all on a zigzag course accompanied by furious hooting from other drivers. Then another sign appeared on the right. Delaying until the very last second, she skidded into the long exit curve, the grey car skidding after her. But Ramon had not been taught by Johannes Herzog. He lost control of the car. In the rear-view mirror she saw it spin and come to a halt in the middle of the road. With a quick prayer that an articulated lorry or some other monster HGV would come and remove that threat entirely, she raced along the country road to the next slip road and drove back.

  Twice she was tempted to reduce her speed, to see if she really had got rid of him, but she wasn’t that stupid. It was only on the last stretch that she drove a little more slowly. Along the avenue of bare trees two cars came in the opposite direction. But there were none behind her.

  She’d calmed down somewhat by the time she turned into Marienweg. There was a light-coloured car parked by Niedenhoff’s fence. She noticed it as she turned into the drive, but she didn’t give it a closer look. The garage door rose, she drove in and switched off the engine, without seeing someone come in through the still open door. After a moment’s silence the door came down. And someone tapped on the side window. Her head swung round. All she could see was a section of a dark pair of men’s trousers.

  It was a chilling moment. To think that she’d shaken off Ramon, only to find Zurkeulen waiting for her here, where she thought she was safe behind a security system with surveillance cameras and sensors that registered heat and every movement. How much had they learned from Nadia? Had they forced her to reveal what was going on? Both of her hands had been burned to the bone, so that it had been impossible to take fingerprints from the body for comparison; that had also removed the mark made by the ring she wore on her right hand. And she’d been run over twice, so that the new fractures meant no one would notice the absence of an old one. It was horrific, but it had reassured her. And now this!

  “Frau Trenkler?” It was a polite voice. She was staring straight ahead, she simply refused to look at that face, only separated from her by a sheet of glass. A man’s voice she thought she’d heard once before. But she’d heard so many men’s voices recently.

  “Frau Trenkler?” the man repeated in polite, slightly hesitant tones. She finally managed to turn her head. He opened the car door. Her hands and knees were trembling so much, he had to help her get out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You remember me?”

  Yes, she did. She remembered his beard, his warrant card, even his name. Dettmer, the suspicious policeman who’d helped her when she’d run out of petrol during the dress rehearsal on that Sunday in August. Her heart was thumping. “Do you make a habit of creeping into people’s garages?”

  He let go of her arm and examined the Alfa with interest. “I thought you’d seen me.”

  “No.” Still weak at the knees, she opened the door to the hall. Dettmer followed close behind. He hadn’t yet said what he wanted and she didn’t feel like asking him. She went into the kitchen, put her handbag on the table, took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen the paper today,” Dettmer said. But he didn’t get any further. Suddenly the ear-piercingly shrill wail of an alarm rang out. The twenty-second delay on the security system had passed. Both she and Dettmer jumped out of their skin.

  Outside the kitchen window a red glare was flickering over the darkened lawn and the road. She dashed to the hall closet, pushed the leather jacket aside, saw the rhythmical flashing of a red light and hastily entered the code. The wailing and flashing continued. “Come on, switch the bloody thing off,” Dettmer demanded, “it goes right through you.” He had to shout to make himself heard above the racket.

  It wouldn’t go off, not with any of the key combinations she knew. She tried several. Her nerves finally gave way. She hammered on the box with her fists, burst into tears and shouted, “Jo! This thing’s gone mad again. Why’s no one helping me?”

  Two minutes later Jo was there. It wasn’t her cry for help that had brought him but the alarm, as it had Wolfgang Blasting, Frederik from across the road and Eleanor Ravatzky’s housekeeper and her son. The two of them just peered through the wrought-iron door and Frederik left as quickly as he’d come.

  Jo didn’t even bother with the box, he dashed up to the study. Blasting asked Dettmer what he was doing there and was told there was the body of a woman in Forensic who looked like his neighbour.

  The wailing and flashing continued unabated. Wolfgang Blasting also went upstairs to see why Jo couldn’t stop it and she followed to make sure he didn’t see anything he shouldn’t. Dettmer followed her. And Dieter had said she shouldn’t let anyone near the computer! Jo was sitting staring at the monitor, drumming his fingers on the desk, impatiently waiting for the data transfer, which he’d obviously set in motion, to finish. Then he discovered that his whole security system had been compressed and the two gigabytes needed to give the system enough space and allow him to switch off the alarm weren’t there.

  “What’s going on here, Nadia?” Jo asked, horrified. The dog in the hall relieved her of the necessity to answer and she went back down, followed by Wolfgang Blasting. Lilo was at the door, wondering what had happened. A patrol car pulled up outside.

  Her voice had gone, she couldn’t shout, only whisper. “He always thinks he can do everything, then he fouls things up like this.”

  She meant Dieter, but Lilo, assuming she was talking about her husband, took her into the living room, sat her down in a chair and tried to reassure her. “Calm down, darling. It’s a prototype, that’s the problem, but I’m sure Jo’ll get it working again.”

  In the hall Dettmer and Wolfgang Blasting reassured their uniformed colleagues. Just a false alarm because Dettmer had distracted the lady of the house. The patrol car drove off. Wolfgang Blasting offered her a cigarette and, like Lilo, told her to calm down. When she waved him away agitatedly, Lilo said, “I’ll go and get her a Valium.”

  Jo went up to the loft and finally silence was restored, the red flickering died away. Lilo came back with two tiny pills, pushed them in her mouth and made her drink half a glass of water. And Dettmer said what had brought him there. He wasn’t part of the murder squad, narcotics were his field, but naturally he talked to his colleagues. And a former boozing companion of Heller’s, who was suspected of having killed him, had claimed under interrogation that Heller had told him there was a woman in the tenement who had a double and who was involved in shady dealings.

  It sounded ridiculous. At first she giggled too, but that was pure desperation. A drunk with a criminal record, who’d made her life a misery, was putting the finger on her from beyond the grave. It was all over. Presumably they’d do a DNA test now.

  Dettmer went on for almost ten minutes without anyone trying to interrupt or respond. But he asked no questions, merely related the facts. Heller had reg
aled his regular bar with more than just a reference to a chameleon - that was the expression he had used to describe her, Johannes Herzog would have been amazed he was familiar with the word and knew its correct meaning, given he had doubted whether Heller could even spell piano correctly. In a fairly inebriated state, Heller had talked about the supposed opinion pollster in the MG. Then he’d gone on to the white Porsche and Michael’s Jaguar, and described in detail the elegant outfit in which Nadia had left the flat after the dress rehearsal in August. Exactly the same as the clothes Dettmer had seen that Sunday - worn by the woman calling herself Nadia Trenkler.

  Dettmer must have an excellent memory. He could remember the scene beside the autobahn almost down to the very last word. Also the state she’d been in, sobbing, covered in blood, a cut on her finger, in a Jaguar that had run out of petrol, not knowing the registration number or how to operate the hazard warning lights. And had she not said she was going to visit a woman friend? He’d be very interested to know the name of her friend.

  The little pills Lilo had pushed in her mouth gradually began to take effect. She stopped giggling and mumbled, “Helga.” That was all she could manage.

  Jo stepped in, explaining the problems his security system had caused that Sunday. Lilo confirmed this and was neither over-effusive nor, as her comments on Röhrler’s death might have suggested, unfeeling. She was just a good friend, who had put her arm round her and was holding her left hand. That of itself gave her the feeling everything was going to be all right. In addition, Lilo was whispering, “Take it easy, darling. It’s absurd, but Wolfgang will sort it out.”

  Not the least trace of hostility, envy or other negative feelings. They were a band of brothers - and sisters - in which each one had their allotted role. Jo was the fatherly support and also responsible for security. And Wolfgang Blasting wasn’t just any old policeman, he commanded a whole department dealing, as Dieter had suspected, with high-level fraud.